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MEMORIES  OF  VAILIMA 


MEMORIES  OF  VAILIMA 


BY 

ISOBEL    STRONG 

AND 

LLOYD    OSBOURNE 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS 
FROM   PHOTOGRAPHS 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
NEW  YORK::::::::::::::::::1902 


COPYRIGHT,  1902,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

Published,  November,  1902 


TROW  DIRECTORY 

PRINTING  AND  BOOKBINDING  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


PAGE 

VERSES  WRITTEN  IN   1872 i 

By   Robert   Louis   Stevenson. 

VAILIMA  TABLE-TALK 5 

By  Isabel  Strong. 

MR.  STEVENSON'S  HOME  LIFE  AT  VAILIMA  105 

By   Lloyd   Osbourne. 

POLA 167 

By  Isabel  Strong. 

SAMOAN  SONGS 207 

By   Isabel  Strong. 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

Pola  would  Arrive  in  the  Morning  Early 

Attended  by  a  Serving  Man      .    Frontispiece 

PAGE 

Mr.  Stevenson  and  Mrs.  Strong  in  the  Li- 
brary at  Vailima 9 

Mr.  Stevenson  in  1893 23 

Near    the    Upper    Waterfall,    Vaisinango 

River 39 

Down  the  Coast 55 

Mitaele 59 

The  Large  Hall  at  Vailima 69 

A  War  Party 75 

The  Hall 83 

The  Road  of  the  Loving  Heart  ....  93 
Entertaining    the   Chiefs  Who  Made    the 

Road  of  the  Loving  Heart  .     .     .      .  101 

The  Inscription 104 

First  House  at  Vailima,  with  Vaea  Moun- 
tain in  the  Background 109 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

On  the  Schooner  Equator 113 

Mr.  Stevenson  and  His  Friend  Tuimale 

Aliifono 117 

The  House  at  Vailima  After  the  Additions.  121 

Talolo 125 

Paying  the  Men  on  Saturday  .  .  .  .  .129 

On  the  Back  Veranda .  133 

A  Samoan  Chief 137 

A  Samoan  Matai,  or  Head  of  a  Family  .  145 

A  Visitor 149 

The  Smoking  Room 157 

Vailima 163 

Pola 175 

The  Walk  in  the  Forest 179 

The  Village 185 

The  Bathing  Pool 197 

Visitors  from  Vaie'e 215 

Vaea  Mountain,  the  Burial  Place  of  Mr. 

Stevenson 221 

Natives  Decorating  the  Grave  .  .  .  .225 


viii 


VERSES  WRITTEN   IN   1872 


VERSES    WRITTEN    IN    1872 
BY  ROBERT  Louis  STEVENSON 


Though  he  that  ever  kind  and  true, 
Kept  stoutly  step  by  step  with  you 
Your  whole  long  gusty  lifetime  through 

Be  gone  awhile  before, 
Be  now  a  moment  gone  before, 
Yet,   doubt   not,   soon   the   seasons   shall 
restore 

Your  friend  to  you. 


II 

He  has  but  turned  a  corner — still 
He  pushes  on  with  right  good  will, 
Thro'  mire  and  marsh,  by  heugh  and  hill 

That  self  same  arduous  way, — 
That  self  same  upland  hopeful  way, 
That  you  and  he  through  many  a  doubt- 
ful day 

Attempted  still. 


Ill 

He  is  not  dead,  this  friend — not  dead, 
But,  in  the  path  we  mortals  tread, 
Got  some  few,  trifling  steps  ahead 

And  nearer  to  the  end, 
So  that  you,  too,  once  past  the  bend, 
Shall  meet  again,  as  face  to  face,  this  friend 

You  fancy  dead. 


IV 

Push  gayly  on,  strong  heart !     The  while 
You  travel  forward  mile  by  mile, 
He  loiters  with  a  backward  smile 

Till  you  can  overtake, 
And  strains  his  eyes,  to  search  his  wake, 
Or  whistling,  as  he  sees  you  through  the 
brake, 

Waits  on  a  stile. 


VAILIMA    TABLE-TALK 


VAILIMA    TABLE-TALK 

AT  Vailima,  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
year  1892,  I  began  keeping  a 
journal,  putting  down  from  time 
to  time  bits  of  Mr.  Stevenson's  conversa- 
tion, characteristic  sentences  and  stories. 
Two  large  volumes  were  filled  in  time, 
from  which  I  publish  the  following  ex- 
tracts with  some  misgiving,  for,  as  will  be 
seen,  they  are  of  their  nature  fragmentary 
and  disconnected.  Much  that  would 
make  them  more  comprehensible  is  of 
too  intimate  and  personal  a  nature  to 
print,  and  it  would  only  be  possible  to 
render  them  more  consecutive  by  weav- 
ing them  into  some  sort  of  biography  or 

7 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

narrative  which  it  is  neither  my  province 
nor  my  desire  to  attempt. 

"  I  have  been  writing  to  Louis's  dicta- 
tion the  story  of  '  Anne  de  St.  Ives,'  *  a 
young  Frenchman  in  the  time  of  Napo- 
leon. Some  days  we  have  worked  from 
eight  o'clock  until  four,  and  that  is  not 
counting  the  hours  Louis  writes  and  makes 
notes  in  the  early  morning  by  lamp-light. 
He  dictates  with  great  earnestness,  and 
when  particularly  interested  unconscious- 
ly acts  the  part  of  his  characters.  When 
he  came  to  the  description  of  the  supper 
Anne  has  with  Flora  and  Ronald,  he 
bowed  as  he  dictated  the  hero's  speeches 
and  twirled  his  mustache.  When  he  de- 
scribed the  interview  between  the  old  lady 
and  the  drover,  he  spoke  in  a  high  voice 

*  This  story  was  finished,  except  the  last  three   chapters,  and 
published  under  the  name  of  St.  Ives. 

8 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

for  the  one,  and  a  deep  growl  for  the 
other,  and  all  in  broad  Scotch  even  to 
'  coma '  (comma). 

"  When  Louis  was  writing  c  Ballantrae  ' 
my  mother  says  he  once  came  into  her 
room  to  look  in  the  glass,  as  he  wished  to 
describe  a  certain  haughty,  disagreeable 
expression  of  his  hero's.  He  told  her  he 
actually  expected  to  see  the  master's  clean- 
shaven face  and  powdered  head,  and  was 
quite  disconcerted  at  beholding  only  his 
own  reflection. 

"  I  was  sitting  by  Louis's  bedside  with 
a  book,  this  evening,  when  he  asked  me 
to  read  aloud.  '  Don't  go  back,'  he  said ; 
{  start  in  just  where  you  are.'  As  it  hap- 
pened, I  was  reading  c  the  Merry  Men  ; ' 
he  laughed  a  little  when  he  recognized  his 
own  words.  I  went  on  arid  finished  the 
ii 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

story.  *  Well,'  he  said,  '  it  is  not  cheer- 
ful ;  it  is  distinctly  not  cheerful ! ' 

" c  In  these  stories,'  I  asked,  cdo  you 
preach  a  moral  ? ' 

"  '  O  not  mine/  he  said.  f  What  I  want 
to  give,  what  I  try  for,  is  God's  moral ! ' 

" f  Could  you  not  give  f  God's  moral,' 
in  a  pretty  story  ? '  I  asked. 

" '  It  is  a  very  difficult  thing  to  know,' 
he  said ;  f  it  is  a  thing  I  have  often 
thought  over — the  problem  of  what  to  do 
with  one's  talents.'  He  said  he  thought 
his  own  gift  lay  in  the  grim  and  terrible 
— that  some  writers  touch  the  heart,  he 
clutched  at  the  throat.  I  said  I  thought 
'  Providence  and  the  Guitar '  a  very 
pretty  story,  full  of  sweetness  and  the 
milk  of  human  kindness. 

" c  But  it  is  not  so  sweet  as  "  Mark- 
heim  "  is  grim.  There  I  feel  myself  strong.' 

12 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

"  '  At  least,'  I  said,  {  you  have  no  man- 
nerisms.' 

"  He  took  the  book  out  of  my  hand 
and  read  c  it  was  a  wonderful  clear  night 
of  stars.'  *  Oh,'  he  said,  chow  many, 
many  times  I  have  written  "  a  wonderful 
clear  night  of  stars  !  " 

"  But  I  maintained  that  this,  in  itself, 
was  a  good  sentence  and  presented  a  pict- 
ure to  the  mind.  f  It  is  the  mannerisms 
of  the  author  who  can't  say  "  says  he  " 
and  "says  she"  that  I  object  to;  whose 
characters  hiss,  and  thunder,  and  ejacu- 
late and  syllable ' 

" '  Oh  my  dear,'  he  said,  '  deal  gently 
with  me — I  once  fluted  I  ' 

"Jan.  i6th,  1893. 

"  Oh  poor  Anne  !  Louis  has  been  laid 
up  with  threatenings  of  a  hemorrhage  and 
13 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

is  not  allowed  to  speak.  It  is  a  cruel 
blow  just  when  we  were  getting  on  so 
well  with  Anne.  When  I  went  in  to  his 
bedside  this  morning  he  wrote  on  a  slate, 
'Allow  me  to  introduce  you  to  Mr. 
Dumbley  ! '  He  was  leaning  against  a 
bed-rest  to  which  he  called  my  attention. 
It  was  the  one  Sir  Percy  Shelley  gave 
him;  my  mother  had  taken  all  the  uphol- 
stery out  as  being  too  warm  for  this  cli- 
mate, putting  in  a  back  of  woven  cocoa- 
nut  sinnet,  which  is  very  neat  and  pretty, 
and  comfortable  besides.  He  cannot 
speak  nor  lean  forward  to  write,  for  fear 
of  starting  a  hemorrhage,  and  yet  he  does 
not  look  ill  at  all.  He  is  tanned  a  good 
brown,  has  a  high  color  and  very  bright 
eyes.  In  illness  he  is  never  pale ;  as  he 
lies  back  against  the  rest  in  his  blue  and 
white  Japanese  kimono,  with  a  wide  red 
14 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

sash,  so  fresh  and  bright,  looking  at  you 
with  such  a  pleasant  smiling  face,  it  is 
hard  to  realize  he  is  in  great  danger. 

"He  has  a  slate  by  his  side  and  writes 
nonsense  on  it.  c  I'm  a  rose-garden  in- 
valid wreathed  in  weak  smiles.'  To  a 
visitor  who  asked  c  how  are  you  ? '  he 
wrote :  f  Mr.  Dumbley  is  no  better  and 
be  hanged  to  him  ! ' 

"  To  pass  the  time  I  showed  him  how 
to  make  a,  b,  and  c,  on  the  hands,  and 
we  were  getting  some  entertainment  out 
of  it  when  suddenly  the  brilliant  idea 
struck  us  both  to  dictate  Anne  in  the 
deaf  and  dumb  alphabet !  It  was  slow 
work,  and  I  often  made  mistakes,  but  we 
got  on  pretty  well  to  the  extent  of  five 
pages. 

"In  the  afternoon  Aolele  entertained 
him  by  playing  patience  on  a  table  drawn 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

to  the  bed.  For  his  amusement  she 
learned  a  game  from  a  book,  and  he  is 
always  pleased  and  interested  to  see  it 
played,  making  signs  when  she  goes 
wrong  and  pointing  at  cards  for  her  to 
take  up. 

"  We  are  only  allowed  in  to  him  one 
at  a  time,  when  we  all  try  to  be  entertain- 
ing and  recount  cheerful  adventures  of 
the  household.  Aolele  is  very  success- 
ful at  this,  but  she  leaves  her  smile  at  the 
bedroom-door;  indeed  we  are  all  terribly 
anxious." 

"Jan.  1 8th. 

"  Louis  is  better  to-day,  and  we  did 
seven  pages  in  the  deaf  and  dumb  al- 
phabet. The  only  concern  he  has  be- 
trayed over  his  illness  was  at  the  first 
sign  of  improvement ;  he  wrote,  £  Oh 

16 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

Belle,  I  am   so  pleased  ! '  and  the  tears 
stood  in  his  eyes." 

"Jan.  zznd. 

"To-day  Louis  was  so  much  better 
that,  though  he  had  a  headache,  we  wrote 
twelve  pages  of  Anne.  When  the  lunch- 
eon bell  rang  we  both  thought  it  a  mis- 
take, the  morning  had  flown  by  so  quick- 
ly. He  generally  fills  in  his  convales- 
cence with  poetry ;  to-day  he  read  us 
some  beautiful  verses  about  Aolele  and 
me." 

MOTHER    AND    DAUGHTER. 

HIGH  as  my  heart!  the  quip  be  mine 
That  draws  their  stature  to  a  line, 
My  pair  of  fairies  plump  and  dark, 
The  dryads  of  my  cattle  park. 
Here  by  my  window  close  I  sit, 
And  watch  (and  my  heart  laughs  at  it) 
17 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

How  these  my  dragon-lilies  are 
Alike  and  yet  dissimilar. 
From  European  womankind 
They  are  divided  and  defined 
By  the  free  limb  and  wider  mind, 
The  nobler  gait,  the  little  foot, 
The  indiscreeter  petticoat ; 
And  show,  by  each  endearing  cause, 
More  like  what  Eve  in  Eden  was — 
Buxom  and  free,  flowing  and  fine, 
In  every  limb,  in  every  line, 
Inimitably  feminine. 
Like  ripe  fruit  on  the  espaliers 
Their  sun-bepainted  hue  appears, 
And  the  white  lace  (when  lace  they  wear) 
Shows  on  their  golden  breast  more  fair. 
So  far  the  same  they  seem,  and  yet 
One  apes  the  shrew,  one  the  coquette — 
A  sybil  or  a  truant  child 
One  runs — with  a  crop  halo — wild  ; 
And  one  more  sedulous  to  please, 
Her  long  dark  hair,  deep  as  her  knees, 
And  thrid  with  living  silver,  sees. 
18 


VAILIMA  TABLE-TALK 

What  need  have  I  of  wealth  or  fame, 
A  club,  an  often-printed  name  ? 
It  more  contents  my  heart  to  know 
Them  going  simply  to  and  fro  ; 
To  see  the  dear  pair  pause  and  pass 
Girded,  among  the  drenching  grass, 
In  the  resplendent  sun,  or  hear, 
When  the  huge  moon  delays  to  appear, 
Their  kindred  voices  sounding  near 
In  the  veranda  twilight.      So 
Sound  ever  ;  so,  forever  go 
And  come  upon  your  small  brown  feet, 
Twin  honors  to  my  country  seat, 
And  its  too  happy  master  lent : 
My  solace  and  its  ornament. 


THE    DAUGHTER,    TEUILA,    HER    NATIVE    NAME    THE 
DECORATOR. 

MAN,  child  or  woman,  none  from  her 
The  insatiable  embellisher, 
Escapes!  She  leaves,  where'er  she  goes, 
A  wreath,  a  ribbon,  or  a  rose  ; 
19 


MEMORIES  OF  VAILIMA 

A  bow  or  else  a  button  changed, 
Two  hairs  coquettishly  deranged, 
Some  vital  trifle,  takes  the  eye, 
And  shows  the  adorner  has  been  by. 
Is  fortune  more  obdurate  grown  ? 
And  does  she  leave  my  dear  alone 
With  none  to  adorn,  none  to  caress  ? 
Straight  on  her  proper  loveliness 
She  broods  and  lingers,  cuts  and  carves, 
With  combs  and  brushes,  rings  and  scarves  ; 
The  treasure  of  her  hair  she  takes 
Therewith  a  new  presentment  makes, 
Babe,  Goddess,  Naiad  of  the  grot, 
And  weeps  if  any  like  it  not  ! 
Oft  clustered  by  her  bended  knees 
(Smiling  himself)  the  gazer  sees, 
Compact  as  flowers  in  garden  beds, 
The  smiling  faces  and  shaved  heads 
Of  the  brown  island  babes  :  with  whom 
She  exults  to  decorate  her  room, 
To  dress  them,  cheer  them  when  they  cry, 
And  still  to  pet  and  prettify. 
Or  see,  as  in  a  looking-glass, 
20 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

Her  graceful,  dimpled  person  pass, 

Nought  great  therein  but  eyes  and  hair, 

On  her  true  business  here  and  there : 

Her  huge,  half-naked  Staff,  intent, 

See  her  review  and  regiment, 

An  ant  with  elephants,  and  how 

A  smiling  mouth,  a  clouded  brow, 

Satire  and  turmoil,  quips  and  tears, 

She  deals  among  her  grenadiers  ! 

Her  pantry  and  her  kitchen  squad, 

Six-footers  all,  obey  her  nod, 

Incline  to  her  their  martial  chests, 

With  school-boy  laughter  hail  her  jests, 

And  do  her  in  her  kilted  dress 

Obsequious  obeisances. 

So,  dear,  may  you  be  never  done 

Your  pretty  busy  round  to  run. 

And  show  with  changing  frocks  and  scents, 

Your  ever-varying  lineaments  : 

Your  saucy  step,  your  languid  grace, 

Your  sullen  and  your  smiling  face, 

Sound  sense,  true  valor,  baby  fears, 

And  bright  unreasonable  tears  : 

21 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

The  Hebe  of  our  aging  tribe  : 

Matron  and  child,  my  friend  and  scribe. 


"Feb.  25th,  1893. 

"  We  are  at  sea  on  our  way  to  Sydney. 
Louis  took  advantage  of  our  stop  at 
Auckland  to  call  on  Sir  George  Grey  *  to 
ask  his  advice  on  Samoan  affairs.  He 
described  his  visit  when  he  came  back 
to  the  ship.  .  .  .  ( He  received  me 
in  the  quietest,  coolest  manner,  heard  me 
with  the  most  extraordinary  patience,  say- 
ing nothing.  Again  and  again  I  felt 
ashamed — he  still  pressed  me  to  go  on. 
He  said :  "  Let  me  give  you  a  piece  of 
advice  frcm  my  own  experience — pay  no 
attention  to  attacks,  go  on  doing  what 
you  are  doing  for  the  good  of  Samoa ; 
the  time  will  come  when  it  will  be  appre- 

*  The  veteran  Ex-Governor  and  Ex-Premier  of  New  Zealand. 
22 


Mr.  Stevenson  in 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

dated,  and  I  am  one  of  the  few  men  who 
have  lived  long  enough  to  learn  this." 
Then  looking  at  me  with  his  curious  blue 
eyes  and  a  kind  of  faint  smile,  "  the  worst 
of  my  anxiety  is  over,"  he  said.  "  I 
thought  you  were  an  invalid.  When  I 
see  the  fire  in  your  eye,  and  your  life  and 
energy,  I  feel  no  more  anxiety  about  Sa- 
moa." I  told  him  it  was  certainly  time  I 
put  my  hand  to  the  plough,  and  nothing 
would  make  me  leave  but  deportation. 
He  nodded  his  head  at  me  for  quite  a 
considerable  time,  like  a  convinced  man- 
darin. "You  may  have  thought  you 
stopped  at  Samoa  on  a  whim.  You  may 
think  me  old-fashioned,  but  I  believe  it 
was  Providence.  There  is  something 
over  us ;  and  when  I  heard  that  a  man 
with  the  romantic  imagination  of  a  novel- 
ist had  settled  down  in  one  of  those  isl- 
25 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

ands,  I  said  to  myself,  these  races  will  be 
saved  !  "  At  every  turn  of  the  conversa- 
tion it  was  the  most  singular  thing  to  hear 
the  old  pro-consul  allege  parallel  incidents 
from  all  parts  of  the  world,  and  from  any 
time  in  the  last  fifty  years.  He  kept 
another  guest  waiting  an  hour  and  three- 
quarters  ;  when  we  were  at  last  interrupted 
he  bade  me  wait  for  him,  and  walked 
with  me  to  the  hotel  door,  arm  in 
arm,  like  a  very  ancient  school-boy  with 
a  younger  boy,  that  was  inexpressibly 
attaching.' 

"  Louis  was  flattered  by  the  interview 
and  said  so ;  and  I  was  amused  to  find 
that  not  a  word  had  been  said  about  his 
books.  The  old  man  took  him  altogether 
as  a  politician,  and  I  was  glad  to  hear  that 
Louis  had  complimented  the  politician 

on  his  literary  success. 
26 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

"  Aolele's  description  of  Louis.  f  Some- 
times he  looks  like  an  old  man  of  eighty 
with  a  wild  eye,  and  then,  at  a  moment's 
notice,  he's  a  pretty  brown  boy.'  Now, 
on  this  trip,  he's  the  brown  boy." 

"  SYDNEY,  March  3rd,  1893. 

"  Last  evening  we  went  to  a  dinner 
given  by  Mr.  and  Mrs. at  the  Cos- 
mopolitan Club ;  as  it  was  a  f  wonderful 
clear  night  of  stars,'  we  walked  home. 
We  passed  the  Australia  Hotel,  just  as  a 
tall,  soldierly  man,  middle-aged,  I  should 
think,  and  undoubtedly  a  gentleman, 
came  staggering  out  and  swayed  up  the 
street  fearfully  drunk.  We  stopped  and 
looked  after  him,  Aolele  and  I  keeping 
the  man  in  sight  while  Louis  made  inquir- 
ies at  the  hotel  about  him.  I  confess,  I 

should  have  preferred  going  on   our  way, 
27 


MEMORIES  OF  VAILIMA 

but  I  could  not  escape,  with  Madam  Es- 
mond on  one  hand,  and  Don  Quixote  on 
the  other.  Louis  came  out  of  the  hotel 
very  indignant;  he  had  found  the  attend- 
ants grinning;  they  said,  however,  they 
knew  the  gentleman,  and  were  surprised 
to  see  him  drinking.  Louis  ran  ahead 
and  overtook  the  man  just  as  two  fellows 
were  lifting  him  to  his  feet  after  a  fall. 
He  grasped  eagerly  at  Louis  and  seemed 
much  relieved  in  his  mind.  c  You're  a 
gentleman,'  he  said,  f  you  tell  me  what  to 
do,  and  I'll  do  it.  I'll  do  anything  you 
say — you're  a  gentleman.'  The  two  fel- 
lows, who  had  been  helping  him,  moved 
off,  but  one  turned  back  to  say,  ( You 
never  know  a  gentleman  till  he's  tried.' 
The  drunken  man  went  on  to  offer 
Louis  fifty  pounds,  saying,  f  I'm  bad, 

you're  good,'  in  a  most  ridiculous  way. 
28 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

'  Cabby,'  said  he,  f  do  you  know  me  ? ' 
'  O  yes,  sir,'  said  Cabby,  { you're  Mr. 

of .'     e  Will  you  cash  a  fifty 

pound  cheque  for  me  ?  *  c  Certainly, 
sir.'  c  All  right,'  said  the  man,  'I'll  give 
you  five  pounds  in  the  morning  ! '  While 
he  was  still  fumbling  for  his  cheque- 
book, Louis  motioned  the  cabman  to 
drive  off. 

"In  the  meantime  a  man  came  up  to 
Aolele,  who  was  standing  a  little  way  off, 
and  stared  hard  at  her.  'What  is  the 
matter  with  you  ? '  she  asked.  '  I'm 
drunk,  too,'  said  the  man. 

"  Both  Louis  and  Aolele  like  to  read 
trash,  that  is,  if  it  is  bad  enough  to  be 
funny.  My  mother  was  tired  and  sent 
us  out  to  buy  some  novels  for  her.  As 
we  went  along  the  street  we  saw  Louis's 
39 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

picture  in  many  of  the  shop-windows, 
and  people  turned  and  looked  after  us  in 
a  way,  Louis  said,  that  made  him  feel  very 
self-conscious.  We  went  into  a  big  shop 
and  had  picked  out  an  armful  of  books. 
A  young  clerk  came  up  to  Louis  with 
great  respect  and  recognition  in  his  eye. 

*  What  have   you  been  getting,   Mr.  Ste- 
venson ? '  he  asked.     f  We    have  all  the 
best  authors — Meredith,   Barrie,    Anstey 
— '  and   then   his   countenance   changed ; 
he  cast  a  most  reproachful,  disappointed 
look  at  Louis  as  he  read  the  titles  of  the 
chosen  works — c  The  Sin  of  a   Cbuntess,' 

*  Miriam,  the  Avenger,'  *  The  Lady  De- 
tective/    He  retired  and  took  no  further 
interest  in  us. 

"As  we  went    to    get    into  a  cab,   we 
passed  a  strange-looking  old  boot-black, 
who  called  out  c  Stevenson  ! '  as  we  passed. 
30 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

I  looked  back,  but  Louis  hurried  me  into 
the  cab,  when  the  man  cried  out  again 
'  Louis  Stevenson  ! '  and  then,  much  loud- 
er, '  Mr.  Louis  Stevenson,  I've  read  all 
your  works.' 

"  Louis  is  very  fond  of  jewels,  as  an^- 
one  may  see  by  his  writings,  and  he  in- 
dulges this  passion  as  far  as  circumstances 
allow. 

"  He  has  had  three  topaz  rings  made, 
for  topaz  is  the  stone  of  his  birth  month, 
November.  Inside  two  of  them  are  his 
initials,  and  these  he  has  presented,  with  a 
memorial  poem,  to  my  mother  and  my- 
self. On  his  own  are  engraved  the  first 
letters  of  our  names.  Sapphire  is  the 
stone  of  Lloyd's  month,  April ;  so  he  has 
bought  a  set  of  sapphire  studs  to  take 
back  to  Lloyd  in  Samoa." 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

These  rings,  O  my  beloved  pair, 
For  me  on  your  brown  fingers  wear  : 
Each,  a  perpetual  caress, 
To  tell  you  of  my  tenderness. 

Let — when  at  morning  as  ye  rise 
The  golden  topaz  takes  your  eyes— 
To  each  her  emblem  whisper  sure 
Love  was  awake  an  hour  before. 

Ah  yes  !  an  hour  before  ye  woke 
Low  to  my  heart  my  emblem  spoke, 
And  grave,  as  to  renew  an  oath, 
//  I  have  kissed  and  blessed  you  both. 
SYDNEY,  N.  S.  W.,  March,  1893. 

"  My  mother  was  proposing  one  day  to 
exchange  consciences  with  Palema,  who 
was  quite  ready  for  the  bargain.  Louis 
was  watching  the  transaction  with  interest 
and  suggested  that  the  business  might  be 
developed,  and  that  a  trade  journal  might 

/ 

32 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

be  started  where  consciences  could  be  ad- 
vertised for  sale  or  exchange.  He  himself, 
he  added,  might  be  very  glad  to  avail  him- 
self of  such  facilities,  and  wondered  what 
his  own  conscience  would  look  like  in 
print.  f  Oh  ! '  said  Palema,  '  let  me  try.' 
f  For  Sale.  A  conscience,  half-calf,  slightly 
soiled,  gilt-edged  (or  shall  we  say  uncut  ?), 
scarce  and  curious/ 

"  At  this  there  was  a  hearty  laugh,  led 
by  Louis  himself." 

"VAILIMA,  April  12,  1893. 
"  I  asked  Louis  why  painters,  who  live 
in  much  the  same  atmosphere  as  literary 
men,  are  less  interesting  and  more  nar- 
row-minded ;  at  least  that  had  been  my 
experience.  He  offered  an  explanation 
that  sounded  reasonable  enough.  The 
study  of  painting  or  music  does  not  ex- 

33 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

pand  the  mind  in  any  direction  save  one. 
Literature,  with  its  study  of  human  nature, 
events,  and  history,  is  a  constant  educa- 
tion, and  in  that  career  a  man  cannot 
stick  at  one  place  as  the  painter  and  musi- 
cian almost  invariably  does.  He  studies 
his  one  pin's  point  of  a  talent,  enlarging 
that,  perhaps,  and  deepening  it,  but  in  no 
other  direction  does  his  mind  work.  The 
bank  clerk,  whose  daily  life  is  spent  in 
adding  up  figures,  knows  that  his  intel- 
ligence is  cramped  and  is  more  apt  to  de- 
vote his  leisure  to  study  and  improve- 
ment ;  but  the  painter  believes  his  work 
to  be  a  culture,  and  thinks  he  needs  no 
more. 

Our  talk  turned  on  Millet,  to  whom 
Louis  takes  off  his  hat.  He  made  money 
for  years  doing  ordinary  popular  work,  and 
then,  in  spite  of  starvation  and  a  large 

34 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

family,  proceeded  to  paint  what  he  thought 
was  true  art. 

" c  And  yet,'  1  said,  c  if  I  were  one  of 
the  large  family,  I  might  not  think  it  so 
fine.  A  painter  might  sacrifice  his  family 
to  his  art ;  would  you  ?  Would  you 
go  on  writing  things  like  "  Will  o'  the 
Mill "  if  we  were  all  starving,  and 
"  Miriam,  the  Avenger,"  would  save  us  ? ' 

"  Louis  gave  in.  '  You  know  well 
enough  I  would  save  my  family  if  it  car- 
ried me  to  the  gallows'  foot.' ' 

"  April   igth,  1893. 

"  The  mail  has  just  come  in  and  stopped 
all  work  for  the  day.  It  was  brought 
up  as  usual  on  horse-back  by  Sosimo,  in 
a  big  waterproof  bag,  and  carried  to  Louis's 
room,  followed  by  the  family  in  great  ex- 
citement. Louis  always  empties  the  mail- 

35 


MEMORIES  OF  VAILIMA 

bag  himself,  and  parcels  out  the  letters 
while  we  all  sit  in  an  expectant  semicircle 
on  the  floor.  Woe  betide  the  person  who 
tries  to  snatch  a  letter  from  the  pile !  We 
have  to  wait  our  turn  as  Louis  throws 
them  out ;  he  gives  Austin  all  the  picture 
papers  to  open,  and  as  he  looks  over  his 
own  letters  he  gives  me  those  from  stran- 
gers and  autograph-collectors ;  I  feel  neg- 
lected if  I  don't  get  ten  or  twelve  at  least. 
"  Some  of  these  are  very  amusing.  *  Sir, 
I  think  you  are  the  greatest  author  living. 
Please  send  me  a  complete  set  of  Samoan 
stamps.'  *  Mr.  Stevenson,  I  have  to 
trouble  you  for  your  autograph  and  that 
of  your  talented  wife.'  Others  are  beg- 
ging letters  asking  Louis  to  pay  the 
travelling  expenses  of  a  gentleman  who 
wishes  to  do  missionary  work  in  Samoa 
combined  with  raising  chickens,  or  to  ad- 
36 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

vance  ten  pounds  in  commercial  enter- 
prise, for  which  he  will  receive  as  compen- 
sation one  Angora  goat !  Many  of  the 
letters,  though,  contain  genuine  expres- 
sions of  admiration  and  thanks  for  the 
good  his  books  have  given.  He  always 
answers  sincere  letters,  especially  those 
from  children  or  sick  people.  Some  of 
these  which  he  dictated  to  me  are  so  help- 
ful, so  inspiring,  that  I  have  dropped 
tears  on  the  paper  as  I  wrote. 

"  Every  mail  brings  him  a  number  of 
books  from  young  authors  asking  his 
opinion  and  advice.  These  he  always 
reads,  and,  if  possible,  encourages  the 
authors  with  a  few  words  of  commenda- 
tion. If  they  are  hopelessly  bad  he  writes 
nothing. 

"  I  have  a  very  good  system  with  the 
autograph  hunters.  On  one  set  of  cards 

37 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

Louis  writes  his  name  and  the  date ;  on 
another  set  a  sentiment  such  as 

'  Smoking  is  a  pernicious  habit ;' 

or  an  idle  rhyme — 

'  I  know  not  if  I  wish  to  please, 

I  know  not  if  I  may, 

I  only  scribble  at  my  ease, 

To  pass  a  rainy  day.' 

Or, 

«  How  jolly  'tis  to  sit  and  laugh 

In  gay  green-wood, 
And  write  the  merry  autograph 
For  other  people's  good.' 

"Louis  calls  these  'penny  plain  and 
tuppence  colored.'  The  former  I  send 
in  reply  to  the  ordinary  polite  request, 
but  those  who  take  the  trouble  to  enclose 
an  addressed  envelope  and  a  Samoan 
stamp  I  reward  with  '  tuppence  colored.' 
38 


Near  the  Upper  Waterfall,  Vaisinango  River. 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

Letters  that  come  spelling  his  name  with  a 
ph,  or  f  Step  Henson '  as  he  calls  it,  are 
torn  up  in  wrath. 

"  Mail-day  unsettled  Louis  for  work, 
so  we  took  a  walk  in  the  forest;  we 
wore  no  hats  and  went  bare-footed  under 
the  big  spreading  trees  in  the  cool  shade. 
We  sat  on  a  stone  by  the  upper  water-fall 
and  talked  about  a  story  we  are  both 
reading  in  Longman 's  Magazine,  called  'A 
Gentleman  of  France/  Louis  was  so 
pleased  with  the  opening  chapters  that  he 
said  he  was  going  to  write  to  Mr.  Wey- 
man  and  congratulate  him  on  his  work. " 

"April  zoth,  1893. 

"  I  was  pottering  about  my  room  this 

morning   when    Louis   came  in  with    the 

remark  that  he  was  a  gibbering  idiot.     I 

have  seen  him  in  this  mood  before,  when 

41 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

he  pulls  out  hairpins,  tangles  up  his  moth- 
er's knitting,  and  interferes  in  whatever 
his  women-kind  are  engaged  upon.  So  I 
gave  him  employment  in  tidying  a  drawer 
all  the  morning — talking  the  wildest  non- 
sense all  the  time,  and  he  was  babbling 
on  when  Sosimo  came  in  to  tell  us  lunch 
was  ready  ;  his  very  reverential,  respectful 
manner  brought  the  Idiot  Boy  to  his  feet 
at  once,  and  we  all  went  off  laughing  to 
lunch. 

"This  afternoon  Louis  was  still  too 
much  of  an  Idiot  Boy  to  write,  and  he 
walked  about  in  such  a  restless  way  that 
it  occurred  to  me  to  teach  him  to  sew. 
He  has  done  all  sorts  of  things  in  these 
moods  before,  modelling  little  clay  figures, 
making  woodcuts  and  printing  them,  and 
even  knitting.  He  has  often  told  me  of 
the  beautiful  necktie  he  knit  with  his  own 
42 


VAILIMA  TABLE-TALK 

hands,  but  he  got  it  so  dirty  in  the  course 
of  construction  that  it  was  taken  away  from 
him  and  burnt.  I  cut  out  some  saddle 
blankets  and  taught  him  to  herring-bone 
them  in  red  worsted.  He  learned  the 
stitch  at  once  and  took  an  absorbing  in- 
terest in  it,  the  interest  he  puts  into 
everything  he  does.  He  sat  on  the  sofa 
by  the  window  in  his  long  blue  and  white 
Japanese  kimono,  his  bare  feet  on  the 
tiger  rug,  looking  such  a  strange  figure 
at  his  work.  He  made  loops  and  then 
pulled  the  worsted  through  as  though  it 
was  a  rope.  He  suddenly  remarked,  c  I 
don't  seem  to  get  that  neat,  hurried, 
bite-your-thread  effect  that  women  do  so 
well.'  He  certainly  did  not.  c  I  think,' 
he  added,  soberly,  { that  my  style  is  sort 
of  heaveho  and  windlassy  ! '  He  walked 
out  with  Aolele  to  look  at  her  garden,  but 
43 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

hurried  back  and  is  now  busily  at  work 
sewing. 

"  Louis  will  never  allow  any  jokes  on 
the  subject  of c  wall-flowers  '  or  old  maids. 
He  reduced  me  to  tears  describing  a  young 
girl  dressing  herself  in  ball  finery  and  sit- 
ting the  evening  out  with  smiles,  while  her 
breast  was  filled  with  the  crushing  sense 
of  failure.  He  says  he  will  never  forgive 
Thackeray  for  the  old  age  of  Beatrix ; 
nor  W.  S.  Gilbert  for  the  humiliating  per- 
sonage of  Lady  Jane. 

"We  were  talking  island  affairs  one 
day,  when  Lloyd  summed  up  the  whole 
situation  thus  :  f  Samoan  politics  are  like 
the  mills  of  God — they  always  get  to 
windward  of  you.' 

"  Louis  was  telling  of  a  narrow  escape 
from  being  killed  he  once  had  when  riding. 

44 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

" c  Why  didn't  you  jump  off  your 
horse  ?  '  asked  my  mother. 

"  *  Why,  woman  !  I  was  ten  miles  from 
home.' 

" c  Well,'  said  she,  '  isn't  it  better  to  be 
ten  miles  from  home  than  in  heaven  or 
hell  ? '  " 

««  April  30th,  1893. 

"  Will  o  the  Mill  made  a  great  impres- 
sion upon  Graham  Balfour  in  his  youth, 
and  he  declares  that  his  character  and  life 
are  moulded  upon  that  story.  Louis  re- 
pudiated the  tale  altogether,  and  says  that 
Will's  sentiments  upon  life  are  *  cat's 
meat.' 

"  Conversation  at  table  : 

"  Palema.  It  is  the  best  thing  on  life 
that  has  been  written  this  age. 

"  Louis.  Rather  remarkable  how  little 
stock  I  take  in  it  myself. 

45 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

"  Palema.  If  you  had  stood  by  your 
words  I  would  have  gone  down  on  my 
knees  to  you.  But  how  did  you  come 
to  write  what  you  don't  believe  ? 

"  Louis.  Well,  I  was  at  that  age  when 
you  begin  to  look  about  and  wonder  if 
you  should  live  your  life 

"  Palema.     To  be  or  not  to  be  ? 

"  Louis.  Exactly.  Everything  is  tem- 
perament. Well,  I  did  the  other  fellow's 
temperament — held  a  brief  on  the  other 
side — to  see  how  it  looked. 

"  Palema.     Mighty  well  you  did  it  too. 

"  Louis.  No  doubt  better  than  I  should 
have  done  my  own  side  ! " 

"May  z8th,  1893. 

"  Mr.    Daplyn,   a  painter,  and   an  old 

friend  of  Louis's,  is  visiting  us ;  we  hold 

fierce  and  animated  debates  on  all  sorts  of 

subjects.     On  Imagination  in  Art  versus 

46 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

Technical  Skill — Moral  Codes,  and  the 
Conduct  of  Life ;  and  this  morning  we 
debated  whether  it  was  unmanly  for  the 
sterner  sex  to  weep.  Palema  scorned  a 
man  who  wept,  but  was  forced  to  admit 
that  noble  actions  were  touching — that  the 
Indian  Mutiny  must  not  be  spoken  of, 
and  barred  out  suffering  children.  Lloyd 
proclaimed  loudly  that  he  himself  was  an 
emotional  man.  c  And,'  he  added,  f  per- 
haps the  lightest-hearted  member  of  this 
family  ! '  which  was  hailed  with  shouts  of 
laughter.  Louis  said  that  he  had  wept  in 
public  and  wept  in  private,  had  cried  over 
stories  and  people,  and  would  continue  to 
do  so  to  the  end  of  the  chapter. 

"  Mr.  Daplyn,  the  most  scornful  anti- 
weeper  of  the  party,  wound  up  with  the 
remark,  'but  I'm  easily  moved  to  tears 
myself!  * 

47 


MEMORIES  OF  VAILIMA 

"  This  afternoon  we  all  congregated  in 
Lloyd's  study ;  there  are  not  many  chairs, 
so  some  of  us  lay  at  full  length  on  the 
bear-skins.  Louis  paced  up  and  down 
the  room,  and  Palema  drew  up  his  six-feet- 
two  against  the  wall.  The  talk  was  in- 
trospective. Everybody  described  himself 
and  the  workings  of  his  own  inner  con- 
sciousness. Louis  said :  { I  can  behave 
pretty  well  on  the  average,  though  I  come 
to  grief  on  occasions.  I  love  fighting,  but 
bitterly  dislike  people  to  be  angry  with 
me — the  uncomfortable  effect  of  fighting.' 
He  said  he  was  forgiving,  but  Aolele  de- 
nied it  and  said,  c  Louis  thinks  he  for- 
gives, but  he  only  lays  the  bundle  on  the 
shelf  and  long  after  takes  it  down  and 
quarrels  with  it.'  f  No  ! '  protested  Louis, 
'  it  is  on  the  shelf,  I  admit,  and  I  would  let 

it  stay  there.     But  if  any  one  else  pulled  it 
48 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

down  I  would  tear  it  with  fury.  In  fact,'  he 
went  on, '  I  am  made  up  of  contradictory  el- 
ements, and  have  a  clearing-house  inside  of 
me  where  I  dishonor  cheques  of  bitterness.' 

"  Palema  said  of  himself  that  he  was  a 
stoical  epicurean. 

" f  I,'  cried  Louis,  £  am  a  cynical  epi- 
curean.' 

"  c  I,'  continued  Palema,  '  am  made  up 
inside  of  water-tight  compartments  that 
nowhere  join ! J 

"  I  said  there  was  a  good  deal  of 
theatre  in  my  inside,  which  led  to  a  lively 
discussion  on  posing  before  the  world. 
That  to  carry  a  brave  front  though  your 
heart  quaked  was  a  pose ;  to  live  up  to 
your  better  nature  was  a  pose  ;  and  Louis 
made  us  all  laugh  by  saying,  earnestly, 
f  In  short,  everybody  who  tries  to  do  right 
is  a  hypocrite  ! ' 

49 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

"  May  3  ist,  1893. 

"  I  asked  Louis,  in  the  course  of  a  con- 
versation this  evening,  how  he  defined  the 
word  literature. 

"  { It  is  capable  of  explanation,  I  think,' 
he  said  ;  f  when  you  see  words  used  to  the 
best  purpose — no  waste,  going  tight  around 
a  subject.  Also  they  must  be  true.  My 
stories  are  not  the  truth,  but  I  try  to  make 
my  characters  act  as  they  would  act  in  life. 
No  detail  is  too  small  to  study  for  truth. 
Lloyd  and  I  spent  five  days  weighing 
money  and  making  calculations  for  the 
treasure  found  in  "  The  Wrecker." 

"  I  asked  him  why  Charles  Reade  was 
not  a  stylist,  though  his  writing  answered 
to  the  description. 

"  '  You  are  right,'  Louis  said ;  (  he  is  a 
good  writer,  and  I  take  off"  my  hat  to  him 
with  respect.  And  yet  it  was  in  continuity 
50 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

that  he  failed.  In  the  "  Ebb  Tide,"  that 
is  now  under  way,  we  started  on  a  high 
key,  and  oh,  haven't  we  regretted  it !  If 
I  wanted  to  say  "  he  kicked  his  leg  and  he 
winked  his  eye,"  it  would  be  perfectly  flat 
if  I  wrote  it  so.  I  must  pile  the  colors 
on  to  bring  it  up  to  the  key.  Yet  I  am 
wrong  to  liken  literature  to  painting.  It 
is  more  like  music — which  is  time ;  paint- 
ing is  space.  In  music  you  wind  in  and 
out,  but  always  keep  in  the  key ;  that  is, 
you  carry  the  hearer  to  the  end  without 
letting  him  drop  by  the  way.  It  winds 
around  and  keeps  on.  So  must  words 
wind  around.  Organized  and  packed  in 
a  mass,  as  it  were,  tight  with  words.  Not 
too  short — phrases  rather — no  word  to 
spare. 

" f  There  are  two    kinds  of  style,  the 
plastic,  such  as  I  have  just  described ;  the 
51 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

other,  the  simple  placing  of  words  together 
for  harmony.  The  words  should  come 
off  the  tongue  like  honey.  I  began  so  as 
a  young  man  ;  I  had  a  pretty  talent  that 
way,  I  must  confess.' 

"  I  asked  him  if  he  thought  his  present 
full,  entertaining  novels,  crowded  with 
people  and  adventure,  an  improvement 
upon  his  earlier  honey-dropping  essays. 
But  he  refused  that.  He  could  not,  he 
said,  criticise  his  own  work  or  see  it  well 
enough.  But  in  others,  he  had  noticed 
that  the  writers  who  began  with  honey- 
sweetness  often  developed  in  later  work  a 
certain  brusqueness  and  ruggedness. 

" '  Did  they  do  it  well  ? '  I  asked. 

"  f  You    bet    they   did  ! '    said    Louis. 

4  Both    Beethoven   and    Shakespeare   are 

good  examples  of  it,  in  their  different  arts. 

Shakespeare's  earliest  works    were   plain, 

52 


VAILIMA  TABLE-TALK 

dull,  unimpassioned  verse.  Next  came  his 
first  singing  note — such  as  Romeo  and 
Juliet;  ah/  he  quoted 

««  My  love  is  boundless  as  the  sea." 

f  The  words  are  like  music.  Then  a  strange 
thing  happened — surely  some  evil  woman 
must  have  crossed  his  path  and  driven  him 
to  the  hideous  work  of  Troilus  and  Cres- 
sida ;  and  yet,  but  for  its  indecency  and 
brutality,  it  might  have  been  his  greatest 
work.  He  took  the  plot  from  Chaucer, 
who  had  told  it  quietly  and  prettily,  and 
made  of  it  the  horror  it  is.  Then  came 
his  later  works,  full  of  strength,  and 
broken  with  flashes  so  delicate  he  might 
have  touched  them  with  his  tongue  and 
passed  on.' 

"  I  asked  him  if  it  were  good  for  the 
young  writer  to  wade  in  emotions. 

53 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

"  f  Good  God,  no  ! '  he  said ;  *  first  make 
his  words  go  sweet,  and  if  he  can't  spend 
an  afternoon  turning  a  single  phrase  he'd 
better  give  up  the  profession  of  literature.' 

"  Louis  is  often  charged  with  being  se- 
cretive. He  turned  one  day  to  his  mother, 
who  had  been  questioning  him  about  some 
trifling  matter,  and  took  hold  of  her  shawl. 

"  '  Who  gave  it  to  you  ? ' 

"  f  I  bought  it.' 

"  f  Where  did  you  buy  it  ? ' 

" f  At  Gray  &  Macfarlane's/  answered 
his  mother. 

"  c  Why  ? '  persisted  Louis. 

"  '  I  don't  know,'  said  Tamaitai  Matua, 
laughing. 

"  '  Good  Heavens,  woman,  why  so  se- 
cretive ?  Why  can't  you  answer  a  simple 
question  ?  Why  put  me  off  with  a  Gray  & 

54 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

Macfarlane  ? '  It  was  all  nonsense,  but  the 
phrase  survived,  and  when  Louis  is  asked 
where  he  is  going  he  answers,  c  To  call  on 
Gray  &  Macfarlane  ! '  and  when  his  mother 
begged  to  know  from  whom  an  important- 
looking  letter  had  come,  he  said,  in  broad 
Scotch,  '  From  Gray,  mem,  with  Macfar- 
lane's  coompliments  ! ' 

"June  8th,  1893. 

"  I  have  just  come  back  from  a  week's 
visit  at  a  native  village  down  the  coast. 
Louis  says  I  look  as  brown  as  a  ham. 
Aolele  said  c  I  hope  you  are  not  tired ; 
you  look  pale — a  pale  black,  I  mean.' 

"  When  I  came  up  to  my  room,  after 
being  so  long  away,  I  found  it  all  deco- 
rated with  flowers  and  streamers  of  cocoa- 
nut  fibre,  the  work  of  my  Samoan  boy, 
Mitaele ;  he  had  fastened  a  garland  of 

57 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

hibiscus  flowers  on  my  beautiful  ash 
wardrobe  by  means  of  tacks,  but  he 
meant  well,  and  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  re- 
prove him.  On  my  writing-table  a  num- 
ber of  Longman's  was  lying  open,  with  the 
following  verses  in  Louis's  hand  fastened 
to  the  page  with  a  hair-pin : 

'  Whether  you  come  back  glad  or  gay, 
Or  come  with  streaming  eyes  and  hair, 
Here  is  the  gate  of  the  golden  way, 
Here  is  the  cure  for  all  your  care  ! 
And  be  your  sorrows  great  or  small, 
Here,  breathe  this  quantum  of  romance. 
Be  sure  you  will  forget  them  all 
With  this  dear  Gentleman  of  France  ! '  ' 

"June  30th,  1893. 

"  We  had  a  fright  about  my  mother  to- 
day.     We   were  visiting  the    rebel   out- 
posts, and  in  going  through  a  government 
village  Louis  called  out  to  us  to  ride  fast. 
58 


Mitaele. 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

These  people  all  know  that  we  sym- 
pathize with  the  rebels,  and  it  is  perhaps 
a  little  foolhardy  to  go  through  their 
villages  to  visit  our  friends  on  the  other 
side.  Every  house  we  passed  was  crowd- 
ed with  men  bearing  rifles.  I  rode  ahead 
with  Louis,  and  when  we  looked  back  for 
Aolele,  we  were  horrified  to  see  her  in 
the  middle  of  the  village,  surrounded  by 
armed  men.  Louis  rode  back  in  alarm 
and  found  that  her  horse  had  balked, 
and  the  amiable  warriors  had  come  to  her 
assistance. 

"  These  Samoan  fighting  men  look 
very  terrible  in  their  battle  array  with 
blackened  faces  and  a  long  c  head-knife ' 
in  their  hands.  But  on  close  inspection 
their  eyes  are  always  kind  and  their  smile 
sweet." 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

"Aug.  23rd,  1893. 

"  We  had  a  trying  but  characteristic 
morning  over  Anne.  We  were  sailing 
along  on  the  eleventh  chapter  when  a 
smart  Samoan  man  appeared  with  a  letter. 

It  was  from ,  full  of  politics  and 

fury,  and  Louis  sent  for  my  mother  to 
come  and  hear  it  read  aloud.  We  dis- 
missed   with  scorn  equal  to  his  own 

and  on  to  work. 

"  '  Chapter  twelve,'  dictated  Louis 
'  Buccleton ' 

" '  That's  cheap,'  I  said. 

"  c  What's  the  matter  with  it  ?  Isn't 
it  good  enough  for  you  ?  What  do  you 
want  ? ' 

"  <  Well,'  I  said,  c  I  want  "  The  Dying 
Uncle  "  or  "  the  Nephew's  Fortune."  ' 

"  Louis  jeered,  but  compromised  on 
'  My  Uncle,'  and  we  were  off  again. 

62 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

Suddenly  Aolele  burst  in.  A  man  had 
cut  his  leg  with  a  cane-knife,  and  I  must 
get  perchloride  of  iron  and  bandages. 

"  I  did  that  all  right,  started  Sosimo  at 
work  on  Palema's  room  with  a  warning 
not  to  wash  his  tan  shoes  in  the  river; 
saw  that  the  calf  was  watered ;  set  the 
girls  to  making  wreaths  for  the  dinner- 
party to-night,  and  returned  breathless  to 
Anne^  when  we  worked  on  serenely  until 
interrupted  by  the  first  bell  for  lunch." 

"Nov.  3d,  1893. 

"  Louis  has  been  writing  autographs 
for  me ;  this  is  to  put  in  the  fly-leaf  of 
4  Memories  and  Portraits  : ' 

Much  of  my  soul  is  here  interred, 
My  very  past  and  mind : 
Who  listens  nearly  to  the  prbted  word 
May  hear  the  heart  behind. 
63 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

"  Louis  Palema  and  I  were  walking  in 
the  forest  to-day  and  were  very  thirsty. 
We  looked  up  at  some  cocoanut  trees 
and  Louis  said: 

" '  If  we  were  natives  it  would  be  an 
easy  matter  to  climb  that  tree.  It  is  filled 
with  young  nuts  full  of  milk.' 

"  f  I  wish  I  had  some  to  drink/  I  said, 
longingly. 

" f  Wouldn't  it  be  aggravating,'  said 
Louis,  '  to  die  of  thirst  under  a  cocoanut 
tree  because  you  hadn't  the  knack  of 
climbing ! ' 

"  fl  wouldn't  die  of  thirst,'  said  Palema. 

"  c  What  would  you  do  ?'  asked  Louis. 

"£I'd  die  of  rage,'  he  said." 

"Nov.  zoth,  1893. 

"  All  our  Samoan  c  boys  '  went  to  the 
great  missionary  meeting,  wearing  the 

64 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

Vailima  uniform  of  white  shirts,  red 
and  white  blazers,  and  the  Stuart  tartan 
lava-lava.  (Note. — A  garment  worn  in 
the  manner  of  a  kilt.)  According  to 
their  own  accounts  they  were  much  ad- 
mired. Murmurs  on  all  sides  were  heard 
about  the  fine  appearance  and  good  looks 
of  c  Tama  o  le  Ona,'  or,  as  Louis  puts  it, 
'the  McRichies.'" 

"  Dec.  loth,  1893. 

:<  Louis's  birthday  is  the  thirteenth  of 
Nov.,  but  he  was  not  well,  so  we  post- 
poned festivities  to  the  twenty-first.  It 
was  purely  native,  as  usual.  We  had  six- 
teen pigs  roasted  whole  underground, 
three  enormous  fish  (small  whales,  Lloyd 
called  them),  400  pounds  of  salt  beef,  ditto 
of  pork,  200  heads  of  taro,  great  bunches 
of  bananas,  native  delicacies  done  up  in 
65 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

bundles  of  ti  leaves,  800  pineapples,  many 
weighing  fifteen  pounds,  all  from  Lloyd's 
patch,  oranges,  tinned  salmon,  sugar-cane, 
and  ship's  biscuit  in  proportion.  Among 
the  presents  to  Tusitala,  besides  flowers 
and  wreaths,  were  fans,  native  baskets,  rolls 
of  tapa,  ava  bowls,  cocoanut  cups  beauti- 
fully polished,  and  a  talking-man's  staff; 
and  one  pretty  girl  from  Tanugamanono 
appeared  in  a  fine  mat  (the  diamonds  and 
plate  of  Samoa),  which  she  wore  over  her 
simple  tapa  kilt,  and  laid  at  Tusitala's  feet 
when  she  departed.  Seumanu,  the  high 
chief  of  Apia,  presented  Louis  with  the 
title  of c  Au-mai-taua-i-manu-vao.' ' 

"  Dec.  z/th. 

"  Christmas  -  eve  we  devoted  to  our 
Samoans ;  we  had  forty,  counting  the 
children,  and  not  one  of  them,  old  or 
young,  had  ever  seen  a  Christmas  -  tree 

66 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

before.  Lloyd  distributed  the  gifts  (they 
had  all  come  out  from  the  Army  and  Navy 
Stores  in  London),  and  made  appropriate 

speeches  in  Samoan." 

"Feb.  6th,  1894. 

"  Louis  and  I  spent  a  long  and  busy  day 
over  Hermiston  ;  *  we've  been  working  at 
it,  already,  several  days.  Captain  Wurm- 
brandt,  an  Austrian  cavalry  officer,  and 
Mr.  Buckland,  known  on  his  own  island 
as  Tin  Jack  (the  original  of  Tommy  Had- 
don  in  c  The  Wrecker '),  are  staying  with 
us.  The  Captain's  stories  are  of  the  camp, 
and  Tin  Jack's  are  of  love  and  the  Islands. 
The  two  are  excellent  company  for  the 

rainy  season." 

"  Feb.  izth,  1894. 

"  I  have  been  reading  a  paper  by  Miss 
Dickens  about  her  father,  and  found  a  par- 

*  "  Weir  of  Hermiston,"  the  last  story  on  which  Mr.  Steven- 
son  worked,  and  his  best. 

67 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

ticular  instance  in  which  Louis  resembles 
him.  They  both  love  dancing,  but  could 
neither  of  them  waltz.  Both  were  excel- 
lent in  the  polka,  and  Louis  is  quite 
capable  of  getting  out  of  bed  at  night, 
like  Dickens,  to  practise  a  new  step.  But 
my  hero  has  gone  a  step  beyond  the  illus- 
trious novelist.  He  began  theorizing — as 
he  does  about  everything  under  the  sun— 
on  the  subject  of  dance  time.  He  could 
never  keep  step  to  threes,  he  said ;  it 
was  unnatural.  The  origin  of  all  count- 
ing is  the  beating  of  the  heart,  and  how 
could  you  make  one — two — three  out  of 
that? 

"  £  How  about  triple  time  in  music  ? ' 
I  said,  cyou  play  it  all  right  on  your 
flageolet ! ' 

" c  I  understand  that,'  he  said,  f  it 
counts  three  between  every  heart-beat.' 

68 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

" c  Then  waltz  to  triple  time,'  I  said, 
and  he  did  at  once  beautifully. 

"The  mention  of  Dickens  reminds  me  of 
a  story  that  Louis  is  very  fond  of  telling,  of 
an  old  Frenchman  in  Samoa,  who,  the 
first  time  he  saw  Louis,  struck  an  attitude, 
and  exclaimed, c  Ah  !  quelle  ressemblance  ! ' 
Then  approaching  him, f  How  like  !  How 
like — Monsieur  Charles  Dickens.  Did  no 
one  ever  tell  you  that  before  ? '  And  Louis 
was  compelled  to  confess  that  certainly 
nobody  ever  had." 

"  Feb.   1 3th,  1894. 

"  We  danced  this  evening  after  dinner 
in  the  big  hall.  Mamma  sat  on  the  table 
and  turned  the  hurdy-gurdy,  and  Louis 
waltzed  to  triple  time.  He  can  also  dance 
the  Highland  schottische,  which  he  does 
with  much  earnestness.  We  had  great  fun 
teaching  it  to  Captain  Wurmbrandt,  who, 
71 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

being  an  Austrian,  is  of  course  a  beautiful 
dancer.  Tin  Jack  (Tin  means  Mr.  in 
his  island)  looked  handsome  and  thought- 
ful as  he  skimmed  about  the  room  in  the 
most  beautiful  imitation  of  a  waltz,  but 
without  a  step  to  bless  himself  with.  I 
did  not  realize  how  good  Tommy  H ad- 
don was  till  I  read  it  over  again  in  '  The 
Wrecker,'  after  meeting  Tin  Jack.  He  is 
quite  as  handsome  as  Louis  describes  him, 
and  has  a  trusting,  earnest  look.  He 
asked,  c  What  kind  of  dances  do  they 
have  here,  round  and  square  ? '  I  an- 
swered, in  some  irritation,  f  No,  three- 
cornered.'  f  Gracious  ! '  he  exclaimed, 
with  interest,  '  what  kind  of  a  dance  is 
that?' 

"  He  is  paying  his  addresses  to  a  young 
lady  here,  and  Louis  wrote  the  following 
72 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

valentine  which  I  illuminated  in  gold  on 
white  satin  : 

"  '  The  isle-man  to  the  lady — I, 

Whose  rugged  custom  it  has  been 
To  sleep  beneath  a  tropic  sky 

And  bivouac  in  a  savage  scene. 
Ah  !  since  at  last  I  saw  you  near, 

How  shall  I  then  return  again  ? 
Alone  in  the  void  hemisphere 

How  shall  my  heart  endure  the  pain  ? '  " 

"March  loth,  1894. 

"  To-day  is  my  mother's  birthday,  and 
she  says  the  best  of  her  presents  is  the 
piece  of  paper  she  found  pinned  on  her 
mosquito-netting  in  the  morning.  It  was 
signed  R.  L.  S.,  and  addressed  '  To  the 
Stormy  Petrel.' 

"  Ever  perilous 

And  precious,  like  an  ember  from  the  fire 
Or  gem  from  a  volcano,  we  to-day, 
73 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

When  drums  of  war  reverberate  in  the  land 
And  every  face  is  for  the  battle  blacked — 
No  less  the  sky,  that  over  sodden  woods 
Menaces  now  in  the  disconsolate  calm 
The  hurly-burly  of  the  hurricane — 
Do  now  most  fitly  celebrate  your  day. 

Yet  amid  turmoil,  keep  for  me,  my  dear, 
The  kind  domestic  faggot.      Let  the  hearth 
Shine  ever  as  (I  praise  my  honest  gods) 
In  peace  and  tempest  it  has  ever  shone." 

'«  March  1 7th. 

"  Yesterday  and  to-day  we  wrote  stead- 
ily at  Anne,  while  war  news  and  ru- 
mors flew  thick  and  fast  around  us.  The 
Captain  brought  us  word  that  the  -  — s 
were  barricading  their  house  with  mat- 
tresses, and  many  natives  are  taking  their 
valuable  mats  to  the  Mission  for  safety. 
We  are  on  the  very  outposts,  and  if  the 
Atuans  did  attack  Apia  they  would  have 
to  pass  Vailima.  Our  woods  are  full  of 

74 


A  War  Party. 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

scouting  parties,  and  we  are  occasionally 
interrupted  by  the  beating  of  drums  as  a 
war-party  crosses  our  lawn.  But  nothing 
stops  the  cheerful  flow  of  Anne.  I  put 
in  the  remark,  between  sentences,  c  Louis, 
have  we  a  pistol  or  gun  in  the  house  that 
will  shoot  ? '  to  which  he  cheerfully  an- 
swers, c  No,  but  we  have  friends  on  both 
sides/  and  on  we  go  with  the  dictation." 

"June  4th,  1894. 

fc*  This  evening,  as  Austin  and  I  were 
swinging  in  the  hammock,  we  heard  a  call 
from  Aolele  :  f  Big  guns  ! '  We  ran  out 
on  the  veranda ;  over  toward  Atua,  where 
the  rebels  are,  we  heard  the  booming  of 
cannon  from  the  men-of-war,  and  we 
watched  the  exchange  of  signals  with  the 
ships  in  port  by  means  of  rockets  and 
search-lights.  There  has  been  fighting  in 

77 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

Aana  and  a  number  of  wounded  men  were 
brought  into  the  Mission.  Dr.  Hoskyn, 
of  the  Curagoa,  is  doing  noble  work  a- 
mong  them  ;  the  natives  simply  worship 
him. " 

'« June  3Oth. 

"  Louis  has  just  returned  from  a  trip 
on  board  H.  M.  S.  Curagoa  to  the 
neighboring  island  of  Manu'a.  It  is 
really  a  part  of  the  Samoan  group,  but 
when  the  Berlin  treaty  was  made  between 
the  three  great  Powers  they  forgot 
Manu'a,  and  now  the  little  island  is  inde- 
pendent and  at  peace,  reigned  over  by  a 
young  half-cast  girl  of  eighteen.  When 
commissioners  and  tax-collectors  went  over 
to  Manu'a,  the  young  queen  gave  them  to 
understand  that  her  island  was  her  own, 
and  they  had  no  business  there,  though 
otherwise  they  were  treated  with  Samoan 

78 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

hospitality.  It  is  a  very  interesting  place, 
and  Louis  had  a  great  deal  to  tell  us 
about  his  trip,  but  I  think  he  enjoyed  the 
man-of-war  itself  the  most.  He  says  he 
has  gained  enough  experience  to  write  a 
sea-story ;  he  has  stored  up  technical 
terms  from  the  officers,  and  ship  slang 
from  the  midshipmen.  He  was  invited 
to  afternoon  tea  with  the  warrant  officers, 
had  early  morning  cocoa  with  Mr.  Bur- 
ney,  one  of  the  midshipmen,  and  was  re- 
proved by  the  captain  for  crossing  the 
batten  on  the  poop  which  marks  off  the 
post  of  the  officer  on  duty.  In  his  daily 
tub  he  was  so  careful  not  to  splash  the 
water  that  the  severe  orderly,  a  marine, 
didn't  believe  he  had  taken  a  bath  at  all, 
looking  so  suspiciously  at  Louis  that  he 
declares  he  felt  like  apologizing. 

" {  Lay  out  a  clean  shirt,  Abbott,'   he 

79 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

said  one  evening,  as  he  was  dressing  for 
dinner. 

"  *  This  is  Saturday,  Mr.  Stevenson,' 
said  the  orderly.  'The  one  you  have 
will  do  well  enough.  I  will  lay  out  a 
clean  one  to-morrow  ! ' 

"  Sosimo  never  smiled  all  the  time 
Louis  was  away;  he  was  the  first  to  sight 
the  man-of-war  steaming  into  the  harbor, 
and  was  on  the  beach  holding  Jack  by  the 
bridle  before  the  Curagoa  had  come  to 
anchor.  Louis  rode  home,  leaving  Sosimo 
to  go  on  board  and  bring  up  his  valise. 

"  Long  ago  Louis  had  a  topaz  stud 
that  was  somewhat  difficult  to  put  into  his 
shirt,  so  he  gave  it  to  me.  I  laid  it  away 
in  my  trinket  box  and  was  dismayed, 
when  I  first  wanted  to  wear  it,  to  find  it 
gone.  Sosimo  had  missed  the  stud,  dis- 
covered it  in  my  box,  and  carried  it  back 
80 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

to  Louis's  room.  I  kept  up  the  fight  for 
some  time,  trying  to  secrete  it  from  Sosimo 
by  putting  it  in  out-of-the-way  places,  but 
it  was  invariably  found  in  Louis's  room, 
no  matter  where  I  had  hidden  it. 

"  When  he  came  up  from  the  ship  he 
put  Louis's  valise  down  on  the  veranda 
and  carefully  abstracted  from  his  mouth 
the  precious  stud  he  had  carried  there  for 
safety.  I  gave  up,  then,  and  it  is  now 
Louis's  own. 

"  We  miss  Louis  so  terribly,  even  for  a 
few  days,  that  now  we  all  rejoice  to  be  to- 
gether again.  There  are  just  seven  of  us  : 
Aunt  Maggie  and  her  son  Louis,  Aolele 
and  her  son  Lloyd,  myself  and  my  son 
Austin,  and  Palema,  as  the  natives  call 
Louis's  cousin,  Graham  Balfour. 

"  Our  furniture  has  come  all  the  way 
from  Scotland :  thirty-seven  cases,  some 

81 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

of  them  fifteen  feet  square,  weighing  in  all 
seventy-two  tons.  The  boxes  were  brought 
up  on  the  bullock-carts  of  the  German 
firm  by  scores  of  Solomon  Island  black- 
boys,  in  a  most  exciting  and  noisy  pro- 
cession. 

"  Mr.  Moore,  chaplain  of  H.  M.  S. 
Curagoa,  came  up  in  his  spotless  white 
clothes  to  help  us  unpack,  returning  to  his 
ship  in  the  evening  the  picture  of  a  chim- 
ney sweep — or,  as  Louis  said,  *  black  but 
comely.' ' 

"July  gth. 

"  We  have  been  very  gay.  Lloyd, 
Louis,  and  I  went  to  the  officers'  ball  on 
the  3d,  and  on  the  4th,  two  Curagoa 
marines  appeared  on  the  veranda.  f  Me 
and  my  messmates,'  one  of  them  said, 
'invites  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stevenson,  Mrs. 
Strong,  Mr.  Osbourne  and  Mr.  Balfour 
82 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

to  a  sailors'  ball  in  the  same  'all  as  last 
night,  not  forgetting  young  Goskin.'  We 
accepted  with  pleasure,  and  I  went,  es- 
corted by  Louis  and  Austin.  The  ball 
was  a  great  success  ;  everybody  was  there. 
Louis  said,  as  he  looked  on  at  officers  and 
sailors  dancing  in  the  same  set,  harmony 
and  good-fellowship  on  all  sides,  (  The  Cu- 
ragoa  revives  my  faith  in  human  nature ! ' 
"  The  next  day,  Louis,  Lloyd,  and  I 
rode  in  the  German  flower  parade  or 
Blumen-Corso,  as  they  called  it ;  last 
night  we  had  a  dinner-party  of  twenty, 
the  first  time  since  the  boxes  were  opened, 
and  displayed  all  our  silver  and  glass  with 
dazzling  effect.  The  big  hall  lights  up 
beautifully  at  night,  and  the  pictures,  and 
busts,  and  old  furniture,  change  the  whole 
aspect  of  the  room.  Our  guests  included 
Count  and  Countess  Rudolf  Festetics,  of 
85 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

the  yacht  'Tolna,  now  in  port,  the  captain 
of  the  English  man-of-war  (the  German 
captains  were  asked  but  were  away  cruis- 
ing) and  President  Schmidt.  Louis  was 
in  splendid  health  and  spirits,  and  though 
work  has  been  neglected,  nobody  cares. 

"  An  English  midshipman  who  is  spend- 
ing a  week  with  us,  told  me  that  though 
he  had  known  and  liked  Mr.  Stevenson 
all  this  time,  it  was  only  the  other  day, 
when  he  was  roaming  about  the  library, 
looking  at  the  books,  that  it  came  over 
him  all  of  a  heap — f  he's  the  josser  that 
wrote  'Treasure  Island* ' 

"July  2zd,  1894. 

"  On  Sunday  evening,  as  Austin  went 
to  bed,  I  sat  with  him  as  usual  for  a  little 
talk.  He  told  me  a  good  deal  about  the 
Mission  at  Monterey  where  he  had  been 
at  school  and  the  services  of  the  Catholic 

86 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

church.  '  Protestants,'  he  said,  *  don't  seem 
to  care  for  you  when  you're  dead,  but  the 
Catholics — '  and  he  gave  a  long  descrip- 
tion of  the  funeral  ceremonies,  ending  up 
with  cand  eight  pall-berries  by  your  coffin ! ' 

"  I  told  them  all  when  I  came  down. 
1  What  a  pretty  funeral,'  said  Louis,  f  to 
be  decorated  with  pall-berries  ! ' 

"  <  That  is,'  said  Palema,  '  if  it  is  in  the 
pall-berry  season.' 

"fln  the  islands,'  said  Lloyd,  'I  sup- 
pose they  would  have  tinned  pall-berries  !  * 

"  c  Imagine  ! '  said  Palema,  c  if  you  were 
too  early  in  the  season,  and  the  pall-berries 
were  green.  Unripe  pall-berries  ! ' 

"  *  Or  too  late,'  said  Louis ;  f  fancy  if 
the  pall-berries  were  rotten  ! ' 

"  We  were  talking  about  some  cham- 
pagne we  had  drunk  at  a  friend's  house. 

87 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

" Palema.  And  such  stuff!  Such 
sticky,  sweet,  treacly 

"  Louis.  After  all,  there  are  only  three 
kinds  of  champagne  —  sweet,  dry,  and 
gooseberry. 

"  Teuila.  The  kind  we  had  was  goose- 
berry. 

"  Palema.  It  was  worse ;  it  was  old 
gooseberry. 

"  Louis.  We  used  to  get  some  vile  stuff 
at 's,  in  London. 

"  Palema.     Restaurant  champagne  ? 

"Louis.  Infinitely  worse  !  God  knows 
who  could  have  made  it — the  manufacture 
must  have  been  a  secret. 

"  Palema.  A  secret  that  died  with  the 
man  who  drank  it ! 

"  I  came  into  Louis's  room  to  find  him 
and  Sosimo  very  busy,  clearing  up  and 

88 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

sorting  papers.  c  Did  you  tell  Sosimo  to 
do  this  ? '  1  asked.  f  No,'  said  Louis, 
with  his  arms  full  of  books,  f  he  told 
me! ' 

"  The  other  day  the  cook  was  away,  and 
Louis,  who  was  busy  writing,  took  his 
meals  in  his  room.  Knowing  there  was 
no  one  to  cook  his  lunch,  he  told  Sosimo 
to  bring  him  some  bread  and  cheese.  To 
his  surprise  he  was  served  with  an  excel- 
lent meal — an  omelette,  a  good  salad,  and 
perfect  coffee. 

"  c  Who  cooked  this  ? '  asked  Louis,  in 
Samoan. 

" c  I  did,'  said  Sosimo. 

"  f  Well,'  said  Louis,  f  great  is  your 
wisdom.' 

"  Sosimo  bowed  and  corrected  him — 
{  Great  is  my  love  ! ' 
89 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

"Aug.  5th,  1894. 

"  Now  that  the  Curagoa  is  here,  Louis 
only  works  in  the  forenoon.  Later  in  the 
day  some  one  is  sure  to  be  seen  toiling  up 
the  road  by  what  they  call  *  the  Curagoa 
track,'  and  shortly  before  they  reach  the 
turnstile  exchange  pleasantries  with  the 
upper  veranda,  where  Louis  is  reading, 
playing  piquet  with  Palema,  or  giving 
Austin  a  French  lesson.  If  the  visitor 
happens  to  be  either  of  the  two  Scotch 
midshipmen,  Lord  Kelburn  or  Mr. 
Meiklejohn,  then  the  greetings  on  both 
sides  are  in  a  most  excruciating  Edinburgh 
or  Glasgow  accent.  The  other  day  we 
had  a  most  interesting  conversation  with 
the  first  lieutenant,  Mr.  Eeles,  who  is 
Louis's  particular  chum  on  board,  and  the 
Lieutenant  of  Marines,  Mr.  Worthington. 

"  Our  talk  turned   upon  the  Islands ; 
90 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

Lieutenant  Eeles  told  us  of  a  visit  he 
made  to  some  far-off  island  of  the  South- 
western Pacific ;  the  natives  showed  him  a 
place  where  the  *  turtle  men '  were  buried. 
They  called  them  that,  they  said,  because, 
though  they  were  white  men,  their  breasts 
and  backs  were  hard  like  turtles.  He  was 
not  much  interested,  having  heard  any 
number  of  island  yarns  and  legends.  It 
was  only  after  he  left  the  place,  and  the 
ship  was  on  its  way  to  Fiji,  that  suddenly 
waking  from  sleep,  he  sat  up  with  the 
thought,  like  a  revelation,  *  the  turtle  men 
were  white  soldiers  in  armor  ! ' 

"  Lloyd  told  of  an  island  a  friend  of  ours 
had  visited  that  had  been  bombarded  by  a 
man-of-war ;  one  bomb,  left  behind  in  the 
sand,  had  not  exploded.  Afterwards  some 
natives  found  it,  and  began  hammering  it, 
when  it  exploded,  killing  a  number  of 
91 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

them.  Since  then  the  natives  warn  stran- 
gers to  be  careful  of  the  stones,  as  they 
are  dangerous  and  liable  to  blow  up. 

"  Louis  is  never  tired  of  hearing  the 
Soldier  (as  we  call  Mr.  Worthington), 
who  has  introduced  us  to  Chevalier's 
songs.  So  we  wound  up  the  evening 
with  f  Liza '  and  the  Vicar's  song  from 
*  The  Sorcerer,'  Louis  joining  in  the 
chorus  at  the  top  of  his  voice." 

«'  Aug.  27th. 

"We  have  worked  at  Anne  all  these 
mornings  when  the  guns  were  firing  on 
Atua,  stopping  once  in  a  while  to  specu- 
late on  what  damage  they  might  be  doing. 
We  can  get  no  news,  but  will  hear  all 
about  it  when  the  Curagoa  comes  back. 
They  hate  to  bombard  a  miserable  little 
native  stronghold  and  kill  a  handful  of 

innocent  people,  but  they  have  to  obey 
92 


The  Road  of  the  Loving  Heart. 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

orders ;  in  the  meantime,  we  plod  along 
at  Anne^  while  groups  of  natives  stand 
silently  and  anxiously  on  the  veranda, 
looking  toward  Lotuanuu  listening  to  the 
booming  of  the  guns. 

"  To-day  we  were  in  the  middle  of  the 
chapter  about  the  claret-colored  chaise, 
when  we  were  interrupted  by  the  arrival 
of  eight  chiefs.  They  proved  to  be  the 
liberated  political  prisoners  that  we  had 
been  interested  in  for  so  long,  whose  free- 
dom from  jail  they  owe  to  Louis.  Louis 
entertained  them  in  the  smoking-room  ; 
we  all  sat  on  the  floor  in  a  semicircle  and 
had  ava  made.  Their  speeches  were  very 
beautiful,  and  full  of  genuine  gratitude  as 
they  went  back  over  the  history  of  every 
kindness  that  Louis  had  done  for  them. 
In  proof  of  their  gratitude  they  offered 
to  make  a  road,  sixty  feet  wide,  connecting 

95 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

us  with  the  highway  across  the  island. 
The  offer  touched  and  surprised  Louis 
very  much,  and  though  he  tried  to  refuse, 
they  overruled  every  objection.  He  said 
if  they  made  the  road  he  would  like  to 
name  it  cThe  Road  of  the  Grateful 
Hearts,'  but  they  said  no,  it  would  be 
called  f  The  Road  of  the  Loving  Heart,' 
in  the  singular,  and  they  asked  me  to  copy 
out  a  paper  they  had  written  with  that 
name,  and  all  their  titles  attached,  to  be 
painted  on  a  board  and  put  up  at  the 
cross-roads." 

"  Sept.  24th,  1 894. 

"  Louis  and  I  have  been  writing,  work- 
ing away  every  morning  like  steam-engines 
on  Hermiston.  Louis  got  a  set-back  with 
Anne,  and  he  has  put  it  aside  for  awhile. 
He  worried  terribly  over  it,  but  could 
not  make  it  run  smoothly.  He  read  it 
96 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

aloud  one  evening  and  Lloyd  criticised 
the  love-scene,  so  Louis  threw  the  whole 
thing  over  for  a  time.  Fortunately  he 
picked  up  Hermiston  all  right,  and  is  in 
better  spirits  at  once.  He  has  always 
been  wonderfully  clear  and  sustained  in 
his  dictation,  but  he  generally  made  notes 
in  the  early  morning,  which  he  elaborated 
as  he  read  them  aloud.  In  Hermiston 
he  had  hardly  more  than  a  line  or  two  of 
notes  to  keep  him  on  the  track,  but  he 
never  falters  for  a  word,  giving  me  the 
sentences,  with  capital  letters  and  all  the 
stops,  as  clearly  and  steadily  as  though  he 
were  reading  from  an  unseen  book.  He 
walks  up  and  down  the  room  as  I  write, 
and  his  voice  is  so  beautiful  and  the  story 
so  interesting  that  I  forget  to  rest ;  when 
we  are  interrupted  by  the  lunch-bell,  I 
am  sometimes  quite  cramped,  and  Louis 

97 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

thumps  me  on  the  back  in  imitation  of  a 
Samoan  lomi-lomi  (massage)  and  apologizes. 
The  story  is  all  the  more  thrilling  as  he 
says  he  has  taken  me  for  young  Kirsty. 

"We  had  such  an  interesting  time  to- 
day, looking  over  old  fashion-books  for 
the  heroine's  clothes.  Her  dress  is  gray, 
to  which  I  suggested  the  addition  of  a 
pink  kerchief;  this  afternoon  Louis  came 
into  my  room  to  announce  that  in  her 
evening  walk  Kirsty  would  wear  pink  silk 
stockings  to  match  her  kerchief;  he  said 
he  could  use  the  incident  very  artfully  to 
develop  her  character.  f  Belle,'  he  said, 
'  I  see  it  all  so  clearly  !  The  story  unfolds 
itself  before  me  to  the  least  detail — there 
is  nothing  left  in  doubt.  I  never  felt  so 
before  in  anything  I  ever  wrote.  It  will 
be  my  best  work  ;  I  feel  myself  so  sure  in 

every  word  ! ' 

98 


VAILIMA   TABLE-TALK 

"  Nov.  3oth. 

"  A  few  days  ago  three  sailors  of 
H.  M.  S.  Wallaroo  came  up  and  asked 
for  a  drink  of  water.  We  gave  them  seats 
on  the  veranda  and  offered  them  some  cool 
beer  after  their  long,  hot  walk.  When 
Louis  came  down  to  talk  to  them  he  was 
not  long  in  discovering  that  they  were  all 
three  Scotch ;  they  had  made  for  Vailima, 
4  like  homing  pigeons/  on  their  first  day 
of  leave.  When  they  were  going  away  I 
gave  them  an  opportunity  to  return  by 
asking  for  a  pattern  of  a  sailor  jacket. 

"  Yesterday  we  were  sitting  on  the  little 
front  veranda  by  Louis's  work-room,  peg- 
ging away  at  Hermiston  like  one  o'clock. 
I  hardly  drew  breath,  but  flew  over  the 
paper ;  Louis  thinks  it  is  good  himself, 
so  we  were  in  a  very  cheerful  humor ; 
we  heard  a  babble  of  voices  at  the  gate 

99 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

and  recognized  our  sailors.  Louis  gave 
up  with  the  utmost  good-nature,  and 
came  down  to  talk  with  them.  It  was 
Thanksgiving  Day,  and  preparations  were 
going  on  for  a  dinner  party,  with  all 
American  dishes.  Aolele  was  experiment- 
ing with  some  Samoan  berries,  with  a  view 
to  cranberry  sauce ;  the  kitchen  depart- 
ment was  in  great  excitement  over  that 
foreign  bird,  the  turkey.  I  overhauled 
the  silver,  Lloyd  was  concocting  cocktails 
to  stow  away  on  the  ice,  and  the  village 
girls,  who  scent  festivities  from  afar,  and 
always  appear  smiling  and  ready  to  help, 
were  rilling  the  jars  and  vases,  and  dress- 
ing the  table  in  flowers ;  all  this  made  a 
great  confusion,  but  Louis  kept  his  sailors 
on  all  the  afternoon. 

"  He  took  them  over  the    house   and 
showed  them  the  busts  and  statues,  the 

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VAILIMA  TABLE-TALK 

Burmah  gods,  the  curiosities  from  the 
islands,  the  big  picture  of  Skerry  vore  light- 
house, built  by  his  grandfather  on  the  coast 
of  Scotland  ;  the  treasured  bit  of  Gordon's 
handwriting,  from  Khartoum,  in  Arabic 
letters  on  a  cigarette  paper,  framed,  for 
safety,  between  two  pieces  of  glass ;  and 
the  library,  where  the  Scotchmen  gathered 
about  an  old  edition  of  Burns,  with  a  por- 
trait. Louis  gave  a  volume  of  Under- 
woods,  with  an  inscription,  to  Grant,  the 
one  who  hailed  from  Edinburgh,  and  the 
man  carried  it  carefully  wrapped  in  his 
handkerchief.  As  they  went  away,  waving 
their  sailor  hats  and  keeping  step,  Louis 
leaned  over  the  railing  of  the  veranda  and 
said,  looking  after  them  with  a  smile, 
'  How  I  love  a  blue-jacket !  What  a  pity 
we  can't  invite  them  to  our  dinner  to-night ; 

they  would  be  so  entertaining !  ' 
103 


The  Inscription. 
(Seepage  94.) 


MR.     STEVENSON'S     HOME 
LIFE    AT    VAILIMA 


MR.     STEVENSON'S     HOME 
LIFE    AT    VAILIMA 

THREE  miles  behind  Apia,  on  a 
rising  plateau  that  stands  some 
seven  hundred  feet  above  the 
ocean  level,  lie  the  house  and  grounds  of 
Vailima.  "  I  have  chosen  the  land  to  be 
my  land,  the  people  to  be  my  people,  to 
live  and  die  with,"  said  Mr.  Stevenson,  in 
his  speech  to  the  Samoan  chiefs,  and  his 
great  lonely  house  beneath  Vaea  Moun- 
tain, the  fruit  of  so  much  love,  thought, 
and  patient  labor,  will  never  lose  the 
world's  interest,  nor  fail  to  be  a  spot  of 
pious  pilgrimage,  so  long  as  his  books 
endure  and  his  exile  be  unforgotten.  For 
Stevenson  was  an  exile ;  he  knew  he 

107 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

would  never  see  his  native  land  again 
when  the  Ludgate  Hill  carried  him  down 
the  Thames ;  he  knew  he  had  turned  his 
back  forever  on  the  old  world,  which 
had  come  to  mean  no  more  to  him  than 
shattered  health,  shattered  hopes,  a  life 
of  gray  invalidism,  tragic  to  recall.  What- 
ever the  future  held  in  store  for  him,  he 
knew  it  could  be  no  worse  than  what  he 
was  leaving,  that  living  death  of  the  sick- 
room the  horror  of  which  he  never  dared 
put  to  paper.  I  can  remember  the  few 
minutes  allowed  him  each  day  in  the  open 
air  when  the  thin  sunshine  of  South  Eng- 
land permitted;  his  despairing  face,  the 
bitterness  of  the  soul  too  big  for  words 
when  this  little  liberty  was  perforce  re- 
fused him.  I  recall  him  saying :  "  I  do 
not  ask  for  health,  but  I  will  go  any- 
where, live  anywhere  I  can  enjoy  the  or- 

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HOME   LIFE  AT   VAILIMA 

dinary  existence  of  a  human  being."  I 
used  to  remind  him  of  that  when  at 
"mes  his  Samoan  exile  lay  heavy  upon 
him,  and  his  eyes  turned  longingly  to 
home  and  to  those  friends  he  would  never 
see  again. 

I  will  say  nothing  of  the  voyaging,  of 
the  long,  dim  winter  in  the  Adirondacks, 
of  the  various  chain  of  events  that  carried 
him  into  the  southern  seas  and  a  new  life. 
His  health  began  to  return  at  once  ;  at  the 
end  of  the  second  cruise  in  the  schooner 
Equator ',  he  even  dared  to  think  of  return- 
ing home,  and  went  to  the  length  of  en- 
gaging cabins  in  the  mail  steamer.  But 
even  the  mild  and  pleasant  climate  of  New 
South  Wales,  so  like  that  of  Italy  or 
southern  California,  proved  too  harsh  for 
his  new-born  strength,  and  a  severe  illness 
overwhelmed  him  on  the  eve  of  his  depart- 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

ure.  The  vessel  sailed  without  him,  and 
he  was  no  sooner  able  to  walk  than  he  re- 
turned to  the  islands  in  the  private  trading 
steamer  of  one  of  his  friends.  He  grew 
well  immediately,  and  began  to  recognize 
the  hopelessness  of  quitting  the  only  spot 
that  offered  him  a  degree  of  health ;  and 
when  the  cruise  was  done  and  the  vessel 
paid  off  in  Sydney,  he  returned  to  Samoa 
in  order  to  make  it  his  home. 

When  we  first  saw  Vailima  it  was 
covered  with  unbroken  forest;  not  the 
forest  of  the  temperate  zone  with  varied 
glades  and  open  spaces,  but  the  thick 
tangle  of  the  tropics,  dense,  dark,  and 
cool  in  even  the  hottest  day.  The  mur- 
mur of  streams  and  waterfalls  fell  some- 
times upon  our  ears  as  we  wandered  in 
the  deep  shade,  and  mingled  with  the 
cooing  of  wild  doves  and  the  mysterious, 


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HOME   LIFE  AT   VAILIMA 

echoing  sound  of  a  native  woodpecker 
at  work.  Our  Chinaman,  who  was  with 
us  on  this  first  survey,  busied  himself 
with  taking  samples  of  the  soil,  and  grew 
almost  incoherent  with  the  richness  of 
what  he  called  the  "  dirty."  We,  for  our 
part,  were  no  less  delighted  with  what 
we  saw,  and  could  realize,  as  we  forced 
our  way  through  the  thickets  and  skirted 
the  deep  ravines,  what  a  noble  labor  lay 
before  our  axes,  what  exquisite  views  and 
glorious  gardens  could  be  carved  out  of 
the  broken  mountain-side  and  the  sullen 
forest. 

The  land  was  bought,  a  half  square 
mile  of  forest-clad  plateau,  ravine,  and 
mountain,  and  the  blind  blacksmith  who 
sold  the  property  generously  threw  in  a 
herd  of  cattle,  very  precisely  estimated 
at  forty  in  number,  which  from  that  day 

"5 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

to  this,  has  never  been  seen  by  the  eye 
of  man.  Years  passed  in  health-resorts 
and  crowded  cities  made  Mr.  Steven- 
son greedy  of  land-owning  when  the  op- 
portunity came  to  him  ;  he  was  determined 
that  no  row  of  villas  in  the  uncertain  future 
should  mar  his  vistas  of  the  sea  nor  press 
their  back  gardens  into  his  plantation. 
In  this,  it  must  be  confessed,  he  saw  far 
ahead,  for  poor,  distracted,  war-worn 
Samoa  has  not  encouraged  the  villa-resi- 
dent as  yet,  and  the  primeval  forest  still 
stretches  from  Vailima  across  the  island  to 
the  shores  beyond. 

A  rough  shanty  was  built,  a  pony 
bought,  a  German  in  decayed  circum- 
stances engaged  as  cook,  and  Mr.  Steven- 
son took  up  his  quarters  in  the  first 
clearing  and  began  pioneer  life  with  an 
undaunted  heart.  For  months  he  lived 

116 


Mr.  Stevenson  and  His  Friend  Tuimale  Alnfono. 


HOME   LIFE  AT   VAILIMA 

in  a  most  distracting  fashion,  and  threw 
himself  with  ardor  into  the  work  of  felling, 
clearing,  and  opening  up  his  acres  to  cul- 
tivation. Gangs  of  Samoans  were  busy 
the  whole  day  long,  and  the  rough,  over- 
grown path  from  town  flattened  beneath 
the  tread  of  naked  feet.  Planks  and 
scantling  lined  it  for  upwards  of  a  mile, 
representing  the  various  stages  of  his  in- 
dustry and  the  various  misfortunes  that 
had  overtaken  the  noble  savage  in  his 
labors.  The  little  leisure  of  the  planter 
was  spent  in  studying  the  language,  in 
teaching  his  overseer  English  decimals 
and  history  after  the  harassing  hours  of 
the  day,  and  in  acquainting  himself  first 
hand  with  the  amazing  inconsistencies  that 
make  up  the  Samoan  character. 

The   new    house    was  built ;  I  arrived 

from    England    with    the    furniture,    the 
119 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

library,  and  other  effects  of  our  old  home ; 
the  phase  of  hard  work  and  short  com- 
mons passed  gradually  away,  and  a  form 
of  hollow  comfort  dawned  upon  us.  I 
say  hollow  comfort,  for  though  we  began 
to  accumulate  cows,  horses,  and  the  general 
apparatus  of  civilized  life,  the  question  of 
service  became  a  vexing  one.  An  expen- 
sive German  cooked  our  meals  and  quar- 
relled with  the  white  housemaid ;  the 
white  overseer  said  that  "  manual  labor 
was  the  one  thing  that  never  agreed  with 
him,"  and  that  it  was  an  unwholesome 
thing  for  a  man  to  be  roused  in  the 
early  morning,  "  for  one  ought  to  wake 
up  natural  -  like."  The  white  carter 
"  couldn't  bear  with  niggers,"  and  though 
he  did  his  work  well  and  faithfully,  he 
helped  to  demoralize  the  place  and  add 
to  our  difficulties.  Everything  was  at 


120 


HOME  LIFE  AT   VAILIMA 

sixes  and  sevens,  when,  on  the  occasion  of 
Mrs.  Stevenson's  going  to  Fiji  for  a  few 
months'  rest,  my  sister  and  I  took  charge 
of  affairs.  The  expensive  German  was 
bidden  to  depart ;  Mr.  Stevenson  dis- 
charged the  carter;  the  white  overseer 
(who  was  tied  to  us  by  contract)  was 
bought  off  with  cold  coin,  to  sleep  out  his 
"  natural  sleep  "  under  a  kindlier  star  and 
to  engage  himself  (presumably)  in  intel- 
lectual labors  elsewhere.  With  the  de- 
parture of  our  tyrants  we  began  again 
to  raise  our  diminished  heads ;  my  sister 
and  I  threw  ourselves  into  the  kitchen, 
and  took  up  the  labor  of  cooking  with 
zeal  and  determination ;  the  domestic 
boundaries  proved  too  narrow  for  our 
new-found  energies,  and  we  overflowed 
into  the  province  of  entertainment,  with 

decorated  menus,  silver-plate  and  finger- 
123 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

bowls !  Our  friends  were  pressed  to 
lunch  with  us,  to  commend  our  inde- 
pendence and — to  eat  our  biscuits.  It 
was  a  French  Revolution  in  miniature ; 
we  danced  the  carmignole  in  the  kitchen 
and  were  prepared  to  conquer  the  Samoan 
social  world.  One  morning,  before  the 
ardor  and  zest  of  it  all  had  time  to  be 
dulled  by  custom,  I  happened  to  discover 
a  young  and  very  handsome  Samoan  on 
our  back  veranda.  He  was  a  dandified 
youngster,  with  a  red  flower  behind  his 
ear  and  his  hair  limed  in  the  latest  fashion. 
I  liked  his  open  face  and  his  unembarrassed 
manner,  and  inquired  what  propitious  fate 
had  brought  him  to  sit  upon  our  ice-chest 
and  radiate  good  nature  on  our  back  porch. 
It  seemed  that  Simele,  the  overseer,  owed 
him  two  Chile  dollars,  and  that  he  was 
here,  bland,  friendly,  but  insistent,  to  col- 
124 


lalolo. 


HOME   LIFE   AT   VAILIMA 

lect  the  debt  in  person.  That  Simele 
would  not  be  back  for  hours  in  no  way 
disturbed  him,  and  he  seemed  prepared  to 
swing  his  brown  legs  and  show  his  white 
teeth  for  a  whole  eternity. 

"  Chief,"  I  said,  a  sudden  thought 
striking  me,  "  you  are  he  that  I  have 
been  looking  for  so  long.  You  are  go- 
ing to  stay  in  Vailima  and  be  our  cook  !  " 

"  But  I  don't  know  how  to  cook,"  he 
replied. 

"  That  is  no  matter,"  I  said.  "  Two 
months  ago  I  was  as  you ;  to-day  I  am  a 
splendid  cook.  I  will  teach  you  my 
skill." 

'^But  I  don't  want  to  learn,"  he  said, 
and  brought  back  the  conversation  to 
Chile  dollars. 

"  There  is  no  good  making  excuses," 
I  said.  "  This  is  a  psychological  mo- 
127 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

ment  in  the  history  of  Vailima.  You  are 
the  Man  of  Destiny." 

"  But  I  haven't  my  box,"  he  expostu- 
lated. 

"  I  will  send  for  it,"  I  returned.  "  I 
would  not  lose  you  for  twenty  boxes.  If 
you  need  clothes,  why  there  stands  my 
own  chest ;  flowers  grow  in  profusion 
and  the  oil-bottle  rests  never  empty  be- 
side my  humble  bed;  and  in  the  hot 
hours  of  the  afternoon  there  is  the  beau- 
tifullest  pool  where  you  can  bathe  and 
wash  your  lovely  hair.  Moreover,  so 
generous  are  the  regulations  of  Tusitala's 
government  that  his  children  receive 
weekly  large  sums  of  money,  and  they 
are  allowed  on  Sundays  to  call  their 
friends  to  this  elegant  house  and  entertain 
them  with  salt  beef  and  biscuit." 

Thus  was  Taalolo  introduced  into  the 
128 


HOME   LIFE  AT   VAILIMA 

Vailima  kitchen,  never  to  leave  it  for 
four  years  save  when  the  war-drum  called 
him  to  the  front  with  a  six-shooter  and  a 
"  death-tooth  " —the  Samoan  cutlass  or 
head-knife.  He  became  in  time  not  only 
an  admirable  chef,  but  the  nucleus  of 
the  whole  native  establishment  and  the 
loyalest  of  all  our  Samoan  family.  His 
coming  was  the  turning-point  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  house ;  we  had  achieved  inde- 
pendence of  our  white  masters,  and  their 
discontented  white  faces  had  disappeared 
one  by  one.  Honest  brown  ones  now 
took  their  places,  and  we  gained  more 
than  good  servants  by  the  change. 

Samoans  live  in  a  loose,  patriarchal 
fashion.  With  them,  as  with  most  bar- 
barians, the  family  is  everything,  and  the 
immediate  head  of  it  the  unit  of  the  coun- 
try. Moreover,  the  easy  system  of  adop- 
131 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

tion  that  prevails  throughout,  and  the 
bounty  of  Nature  that  makes  food-getting 
more  of  a  pastime  than  a  labor,  allows 
the  Samoan  to  pass  from  one  family  to 
another  almost  at  will.  There  is  a  single 
word  in  the  dictionary  that  contains  a 
world  of  meaning — a  man  that  works  hard 
for  a  short  time  and  then  grows  lazy 
— "as  applied  to  a  stranger  entering  a 
new  family." 

Naturally  it  came  to  pass  in  Vailima 
that  a  new  family  was  started,  with  Mr. 
Stevenson  for  its  house-chief,  and  the 
tradition  of  devotion  and  service  trans- 
ferred bodily  from  Samoan  life  into  our 
own.  None  knew  better  than  Mr.  Ste- 
venson how  to  foster  and  encourage  this 
innovation,  and  our  family  soon  began  to 
acquire  a  status  in  the  land.  The  Stuart 

tartan  kilt,  our  uniform  on  Sundays  and 
132 


HOME   LIFE   AT   VAILIMA 

other  holidays,  became  a  thing  of  pride 
to  the  wearer  and  the  badge  of  his  high 
connection,  and  the  mamalu  or  prestige  of 
Vailima  was  to  be  supported  and  upheld 
by  every  son  of  the  house.  Truth  suf- 
fered occasionally  at  the  hands  of  the 
more  zealous,  and  I  can  trace  many  mis- 
statements  and  exaggerations  that  have 
crept  into  print  to  the  misguided  though 
laudable  ardor  of  our  clansmen.  A  friend 
aptly  described  Vailima  as  "  an  Irish  cas- 
tle of  1820  minus  the  dirt."  It  must  be 
remembered  that  the  better  class  of  Sa- 
moans  are  gentlefolk,  and  are  undistin- 
guishable,  so  far  as  good  manners,  good 
breeding  and  tact  are  concerned,  from  the 
people  we  ordinarily  mix  with  in  our  own 
country.  No  Spaniard  is  more  punctil- 
ious in  matters  of  etiquette,  no  German 
prouder  of  his  long  pedigree,  than  these 
135 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

handsome  and  stalwart  barbarians ;  and 
their  language  is  even  enriched  by  a  whole 
vocabulary  of  courtesy  with  which  every 
chief  must  be  familiar.  In  fact,  the  rude- 
ness, boorishness,  and  pretentiousness  of 
many  whites  is  often  sharply  criticised  and 
condemned. 

In  number  the  Vailima  family  varied 
from  thirteen  to  twenty-one,  a  picked  lot 
of  young  men  that  for  physique,  good 
manners,  obedience,  and  manliness  it 
would  be  hard  to  match  in  any  country. 
It  must  be  said  that  Mr.  Stevenson's 
methods  of  discipline  had  much  to  do 
with  this  favorable  result.  Unquestioning 
and  absolute  obedience  was  insisted  upon  ; 
an  order  once  given  was  seldom  altered  or 
modified,  and  the  singular  and  unforeseen 
partiality  of  Samoans  (apparently  the  most 
casual  of  mankind)  for  svstem,  for  an  or- 
136 


A  Samoan  Chief. 


HOME  LIFE  AT   VAILIMA 

dered  and  regulated  existence,  for  a  har- 
ness of  daily  routine,  was  taken  advantage 
of  to  the  fullest  degree.  Every  man  had 
his  work  outlined  for  him  in  advance,  and 
several  even  possessed  type-written  lists 
of  their  various  duties.  Little  proclama- 
tions and  notices  were  often  posted  up  in 
order  to  correct  petty  irregularities,  and  to 
define  the  responsibility  and  authority  of 
each  member  of  the  household.  For 
breaches  of  discipline,  untruthfulness,  ab- 
sence without  leave,  etc.,  money  fines  were 
imposed  with  rigorous  impartiality,  and 
for  more  serious  offences  a  regular  court 
martial  was  held.  No  one  was  ever  fined 
without  his  first  assenting  to  the  justice  of 
the  punishment,  and  the  culprit  was  always 
given  the  option  of  receiving  his  money 
in  full  and  being  dismissed  the  place.  A 
leaf,  too,  was  taken  with  advantage  from 
139 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

the  old  Naval  Regulations,  and  no  man 
was  ever  punished  the  same  day  of  the 
offence.  The  fines  themselves  went  into 
the  coffers  of  the  rival  missionary  soci- 
eties, Protestant  or  Roman  Catholic,  ac- 
cording to  the  creed  of  the  involuntary 
donor.  A  lecture  often  fell  to  the  lot  of 
the  wrong-doer  that  he  relished  even  less 
than  the  penalty  of  his  offence,  and  the 
summing  up  of  an  important  suenga  or 
trial  w^s  always  listened  to  in  breathless 
silence  by  the  members  of  the  household. 
It  ran  usually  to  something  of  this  sort : 

"  Fiaali'i,  you  have  confessed  that  you 
stole  the  cooked  pigs,  the  taro,  the  palusa- 
mis,  the  breadfruit,  and  fish  that  fell  to 
Vailima's  portion  at  yesterday's  feast. 
Your  wish  to  eat  was  greater  than  your 
wish  to  be  a  gentleman.  You  have  shown 

a  bad   heart  and  your  sin  is  a  great  one, 
140 


HOME   LIFE  AT   VAILIMA 

not  alone  for  the  pigs  which  count  as 
naught,  but  because  you  have  been  false 
to  your  family.  Even  a  German  black- 
boy  that  knows  not  God  and  whom  you 
despise,  would  not  have  done  what  you 
have  done.  It  is  easy  to  say  that  you  are 
sorry,  that  you  wish  you  were  dead  :  but 
that  is  no  answer.  We  have  lost  far  more 
than  a  few  dozen  baskets  of  food ;  we 
have  lost  our  trust  in  you,  which  used  to 
be  so  great,  our  confidence  in  your  loyalty 
and  high-chiefness.  See  how  many  bad 
things  have  resulted  from  your  sin  !  First, 
you  have  told  many  lies  and  have  tried  to 
screen  your  wickedness  by  a  trick,  say- 
ing that  five  baskets  was  all  the  feast  ap- 
portioned to  us,  thus  bringing  shame  on 
the  gentleman  who  gave  it.  Secondly, 
you  persuaded  Ti'a,  Tulafono,  and  Satu- 
paiala  to  join  in  your  conspiracy,  which 
141 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

they  did  not  wish  to  do  at  first,  they 
being  like  Eve  in  the  garden  and  you  the 
serpent.  You  have  hurt  all  our  hearts 
here,  not  because  of  the  pigs,  but  because 
we  are  ashamed  and  mortified  before  the 
world.  If  this  thing  gets  spoken  of  and 
carried  from  house  to  house,  we  shall  be 
ashamed  to  walk  along  the  road,  for  peo- 
ple will  mock  at  us,  and  the  name  of 
Vailima  will  not  be  fragrant.  Then  if  it 
reaches  the  ears  of  the  great  chiefs  that 
treated  us  so  handsomely,  are  we  to  say : 
*  Be  not  angry,  gentlemen,  four  of  our 
family  are  thieves ;  their  respect  and  love 
for  me  is  great,  but  their  wish  to  eat  pig 
is  greater  still ! '  There  are  great  sins 
that  are  easily  forgiven :  there  are  others 
that  are  hard  to  pardon.  It  is  better  to 
obey  a  strong  and  angry  heart  than  to 
obey  the  belly.  /  am  not  your  father ;  / 
142 


HOME   LIFE  AT    VAILIMA 

am  not  your  chief.  The  belly  is  your 
chief!  But  God  has  not  given  all  my 
family  bad  hearts.  Look  at  Leupolu. 
He  was  not  like  Ti'a,  Tulafono,  and  Sa- 
tupaiala ;  he  was  a  brave  man,  though  he 
was  only  one  and  you  so  many.  He 
said  you  were  doing  a  wicked  thing ;  he 
would  not  surrender  his  burden  of  food, 
nor  did  the  fear  of  ghosts  prevent  him 
coming  home  in  the  dark.  For  if  a  man 
is  brave  in  uprightness  he  is  brave  in  all 
other  ways.  But  Leupolu  loved  his  fam- 
ily more  than  his  belly,  and  when  he 
came  home  he  did  not  make  a  great  cry, 
nor  did  he  tell  the  story  of  your  wicked- 
ness. He  went  about  with  a  sad  face  and 
said  nothing,  for  he  was  like  myself,  an- 
gry but  sorrowful.  He  will  be  rewarded 
for  his  love  with  a  new  kilt  and  suitable 
jacket.  Ti'a,  Tulafono,  and  Satupaiala 
143 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

are  each  fined  two  dollars.  Fiaali'i,  you 
are  fined  thirty  dollars  to  be  paid  in  week- 
ly instalments.  When  the  whole  thirty- 
six  dollars  is  ready  it  will  be  handed  you, 
and  you  will  make  us  a  great  feast  here 
in  Vailima  by  way  of  atonement,  and  for 
every  pig  stolen  there  shall  be  two  pigs, 
and  for  every  taro,  two  taro,  and  so  on 
and  more  also.  You  shall  be  the  host,  but 
you  shall  call  none  of  your  friends  to  the 
feast,  nor  Ti'a,  Tulafono,  nor  Satupaiala, 
but  the  others  shall  invite  their  friends. 
Then  you  will  be  forgiven  and  this  thing 
forgotten.  We  live  only  by  the  high-chief- 
will  of  God,  nor  must  we  be  cruel  to  one 
another  when  the  High-Chief-Son  of  God 
is  so  good  to  us  all.  One  word  must 
still  be  said.  Let  the  story  of  this  wicked 
business  be  buried  in  your  hearts,  lest 

strangers  talk  of  it.     Fiaali'i  and  the  others 
144 


A  Samoan  Matai,  or  Head  of  a  Family. 


HOME   LIFE  AT   VAILIMA 

have  been  tried  and  punished,  and  their 
penalties  must  not  be  increased  by  mock- 
ery or  reproaches.  Think  of  your  own 
sins  and  hold  your  peace.  This  trial  is 
finished.  Sosimo,  Mitaele,  and  Pulu  will 
make  'ava  for  us  all,  and  it  will  be  called 
on  the  front  veranda." 

But  Mr.  Stevenson  was  not  only  the 
judge  in  the  household,  the  meter  out  of 
punishments  and  rewards;  he  was  the 
real  matai  or  head  of  the  family,  and  was 
always  ready,  no  matter  how  busy  he 
might  be,  or  how  much  immersed  in  liter- 
ary work,  to  turn  a  friendly  ear  to  the 
plaints  of  his  people.  He  was  consulted 
on  every  imaginable  subject,  and  all  man- 
ner of  petty  persecutions  and  petty  injus- 
tices were  put  right  by  his  strong  arm. 
Government  chiefs  and  rebels  consulted 
him  with  regard  to  policy ;  political  letters 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

were  brought  to  him  to  read  and  criticise ; 
his  native  following  was  so  widely  divided 
in  party  that  he  was  often  kept  better  in- 
formed on  current  events  than  any  one 
person  in  the  country.  Old  gentlemen 
would  arrive  in  stately  procession  with 
squealing  pigs  for  the  "  chief-house  of 
wisdom,"  and  would  beg  advice  on  the 
capitation-tax  or  some  such  subject  of  the 
hour  ;  an  armed  party  would  come  from 
across  the  island  with  gifts,  and  a  request 
that  Tusitala  would  take  charge  of  the 
funds  of  the  village  and  in  time  buy  the 
roof-iron  for  a  proposed  church.  Parties 
would  come  to  hear  the  latest  news  of  the 
proposed  disarming  of  the  country,  or  to 
arrange  a  private  audience  with  one  of  the 
officials ;  and  poor,  war-worn  chieftains, 
whose  only  anxiety  was  to  join  the  win- 
ning side,  and  who  wished  to  consult  with 
148 


A  fistta'. 


HOME   LIFE  AT   VAILIMA 

Tusitala  as  to  which  that  might  be.  Mr. 
Stevenson  would  sigh  sometimes  as  he  saw 
these  stately  folk  crossing  the  lawn  in 
single  file,  their  attendants  following  be- 
hind with  presents  and  baskets,  but  he 
never  failed  to  meet  or  hear  them. 

It  has  often  been  asked  what  gave  Mr. 
Stevenson  his  standing  in  Samoa ;  what  it 
was  that  made  this  English  man  of  letters 
such  a  power  in  the  land  of  his  adoption. 
It  must  be  remembered  that  to  the  Sa- 
moan  mind  he  was  inordinately  rich,  and 
many  of  them  believe  in  the  bottom  of 
their  hearts  that  the  story  of  the  bottle- 
imp  was  no  fiction,  but  a  tangible  fact. 
Mr.  Stevenson  was  a  resident,  a  consider- 
able land-owner,  a  man  like  themselves, 
with  taro-swamps,  banana  plantations,  and 
a  Samoan  ainga  or  family.  He  was  no 
official  with  a  hired  house,  here  to-day 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

with  specious  good-will  on  his  lips,  and 
empty  promises,  but  off  to-morrow  in  the 
mail  steamer  to  that  vague  region  called 
"  papalagi  "  or  "  the  white  country."  He 
knew  Samoan  etiquette,  and  was  familiar 
with  the  baser  as  well  as  the  better  side 
of  the  native  character  ;  he  was  cautiously 
generous  after  the  fashion  of  the  country, 
and  neither  excited  covetousness  by  undue 
prodigality  nor  failed  to  respond  in  a  be- 
fitting way  for  favors  received.  More- 
over, he  was  a  consistent  partisan  of 
Mataafa,  the  ill-fated  rebel  king,  a  man 
of  high  and  noble  character,  who  though 
beaten  and  crushed  by  the  government 
forces  was  nevertheless  looked  up  to  and 
covertly  admired  by  all  Samoa.  The  di- 
vinity that  doth  hedge  a  king,  even  a  de- 
feated and  fallen  one,  cast  a  glamour  over 

his   close   friend,    Mr.    Stevenson.     And 
152 


HOME   LIFE  AT   VAILIMA 

when  the  British  man-of-war  brought  the 
unfortunate  ex-king  to  Apia  with  many 
of  his  chiefs,  it  was  Mr.  Stevenson  that 
first  boarded  the  ship  with  sympathy  and 
assistance ;  it  was  Mr.  Stevenson  that 
lighted  the  great  ovens  and  brought  down 
his  men  weighted  with  food-baskets  when 
all  were  afraid  and  stood  aloof;  it  was  Mr. 
Stevenson  that  attended  to  the  political 
prisoners  in  the  noisome  jail  after  they 
had  been  flogged  through  the  streets  and 
foully  mishandled  under  the  very  guns  of 
the  men-of-war  ;  it  was  Mr.  Stevenson  that 
brought  and  paid  the  doctor,  that  had  the 
stinking  prison  cleansed,  that  fed  the 
starving  wretches  from  his  own  pocket  un- 
til the  officials  were  shamed  and  terrified 
into  action.  These  things  made  a  deep 
impression  at  the  time,  and  will  never  be 
altogether  forgotten.  No  wonder  the  gov- 
153 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

ernment  chiefs  said  to  one  another :  "  Be- 
hold, this  is  indeed  a  friend ;  would  our 
white  officials  have  done  the  same  had  the 
day  gone  against  us  ?  "  And  the  expres- 
sion, "  Once  Tusitala's  friend,  always  Tu- 
sitala's  friend,"  went  about  the  countryside 
\ike  a  proverb. 

Mr.  Stevenson's  relations  with  the  mis- 
sionary bodies,  the  two  Protestant  and  the 
Roman  Catholic,  were  particularly  happy. 
He  stood  high  in  the  esteem  of  all  three, 
for  though  a  candid  critic,  he  was  in  keen 
sympathy  with  their  work  and  their  way 
of  doing  it,  and  was  ever  outspoken  in  his 
admiration  of  their  high-mindedness,  un- 
sectarianism,  and  honest  endeavor  to  im- 
prove the  people.  His  friendship  and 
regard  was  no  less  generously  returned  ; 
and  they  opened  their  hearts  to  him,  freely 
and  frankly,  on  many  a  delicate  matter 
154 


HOME   LIFE  AT   VAILIMA 

undivulged  to  the  general  world  ;  for  to- 
gether they  stood  on  the  common  ground 
of  regard  for  Samoa  and  devotion  to  its 
welfare.  Would  that  I  could  say  the 
same  of  our  officials,  or  characterize  Mr. 
Stevenson's  relations  with  the  most  of 
them  in  the  same  strain ;  but  it  must  be 
confessed  that  to  them  he  was  the  b$te 
noir  of  the  country,  or  a  better  simile,  the 
Samoan  Jove,  whose  thunderbolts  carried 
consternation  far  and  wide.  In  vain  they 
attempted  to  deport  him  from  the  island, 
to  close  his  mouth  by  regulation,  to  post 
spies  about  his  house  and  involve  him  in 
the  illicit  importation  of  arms  and  fixed 
ammunition.  The  natives  looked  on  in 
wonder,  and  when  the  officials  vanished 
and  the  undaunted  Tusitala  remained  be- 
hind, they  drew  their  own  conclusions. 
But  of  the  many  causes  that  went  to 
155 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

make  Mr.  Stevenson  a  considerable  figure 
in  his  adopted  country,  his  own  personality 
after  all  was  the  chiefest.  If  his  ardent, 
sympathetic  individuality  shines  so  con- 
vincingly through  the  text  of  his  books 
that  it  makes  friends  of  those  who  but 
dimly  understand  his  work,  how  much 
more  was  it  the  case  in  far  Samoa,  where 
no  printed  page  intervened  between  the 
man  and  his  fellows,  where  his  voice 
reached  first  hand  and  swayed — not  liter- 
ary coteries  in  the  heart  of  civilization,  but 
war-scarred  chiefs  with  guns  in  their  hands 
and  wrongs  to  right.  He  would  have 
been  loved  and  followed  anywhere,  but 
how  much  more  in  poor,  misgoverned, 
distracted  Samoa,  so  remote,  so  inarticu- 
late ;  for  he  was  one  of  the  Great-hearts 
of  this  world  both  in  pen  and  deed,  and 
many  were  those  he  helped. 
156 


HOME   LIFE   AT   VAILIMA 

The  current  of  life  ran  very  placidly  in 
Vailima,  in  spite  of  the  little  agitations 
and  bitternesses  of  the  tiny  world  at  our 
feet.  The  conch-shell  awakened  the 
household  at  daybreak,  and  the  routine  of 
existence  went  forward  unchanged,  for  all 
that  the  cannon  might  boom  from  the 
men-of-war,  and  the  mellow  trumpets 
proclaim  the  march  of  armed  men.  At 
times  a  war-party  would  halt  at  our  front 
veranda,  discuss  a  bowl  of  yava  with  the 
head  of  the  house,  and  melt  picturesquely 
away  again  in  the  forest,  with  perhaps  a 
feu  de  joie  in  honor  of  their  host — a  com- 
pliment that  he  would  gladly  have  dis- 
pensed with.  Meals  were  served  in  the 
great  hall  of  Vailima,  a  noble  room  over 
fifty  feet  long  and  proportionately  broad, 
of  which  Mr.  Stevenson  was  pardonably 
proud.  At  half  past  two  the  clapping  of 
159 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

hands  announced  that  'ava  was  prepared 
— that  peculiar  beverage  of  the  South 
Pacific — and  when  everyone  was  assembled 
it  was  called  and  distributed  in  the  Samoan 
manner,  Mr.  Stevenson  receiving  the  first 
cup  according  to  the  dictates  of  etiquette. 
There  were  usually  visitors  in  the  house, 
and  the  cool  of  the  noon  often  brought 
callers  from  the  "  beach,"  officers  from  the 
men-of-war,  missionaries,  officials,  blue- 
jackets, local  residents,  priests,  Mormon 
elders,  passing  tourists — all  the  flotsam 
and  jetsam,  in  fact,  of  a  petty  port  lying 
on  one  of  the  great  thoroughfares  of  the 
world.  It  is  hard  for  an  outsider  to  real- 
ize the  life  and  animation  there  is  in  Samoa. 
The  American  conjures  up  a  picture  of  a 
frontier  post ;  the  Englishman  harks  to 
Kipling  and  station  life  in  India  ;  and  both 
are  wrong.  Samoa  is  very  cosmopolitan 

160 


HOME   LIFE  AT   VAILIMA 

for  all  its  insignificance  on  the  map  and  its 
white  population  of  four  hundred  souls ; 
balls,  picnics,  parties,  are  of  common  oc- 
currence ;  there  is  a  constant  flow  of  news, 
rumor,  and  island  gossip  ;  and  four  steam- 
ers a  month  link  the  group  to  the  outside 
world  and  bring  an  endless  procession  of 
strange  faces  across  our  little  stage. 

Mr.  Stevenson  was  fond  of  amusement 
and  hospitality,  and  apart  from  a  constant 
succession  of  more  formal  luncheon  parties 
and  dinners,  there  was  always  room  at  his 
table  for  the  unexpected  guests  that  the 
chef  had  orders  to  bear  in  mind.  The 
first  cotillon  ever  given  in  Samoa  took 
place  at  Vailima ;  the  first  pony  paper- 
chase  was  got  up  under  Mr.  Stevenson's 
direction ;  he  was  always  eager  to  bear  his 
part  in  any  scheme  for  the  public  enter- 
tainment, and  his  support  and  subscription 

161 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

could  always  be  reckoned  on  in  advance. 
Nor  was  he  less  backward  with  regard  to 
the  natives,  whom  he  often  feasted  in  the 
Samoan  way  with  great  pomp  and  a 
rigorous  regard  to  etiquette  and  custom. 
His  birthday  party  was  a  veritable  gather- 
ing of  the  clans,  beginning  at  dawn  and 
continuing  uninterruptedly  till  dusk,  with 
a  huge  feast  and  troops  of  dancers  to  enter- 
tain the  people.  A  Christmas-tree  rejoiced 
the  household  every  year,  and  was  the 
occasion  of  breathless  anticipation  and 
excitement;  and  the  little  fiesta  was  not 
unenhanced  by  the  good-humored  raillery 
with  which  the  presents  were  distributed. 

Mr.  Stevenson  could  not  be  seen  to 
better  advantage  than  at  the  head  of  his 
faultless  table,  sharing  and  leading  the 
conversation  of  the  guests  that  various 

strange  fates  had  brought  together  beneath 
162 


HOME   LIFE   AT   VAILIMA 

his  roof.  He  loved  the  contrast  of  even- 
ing dress  and  the  half-naked  attendants ; 
the  rough  track  that  led  the  visitor  through 
forest  and  jungle  to  this  glowing  house 
under  Vaea,  the  juxtaposition  of  original 
Hogarths,  Piranes's,  pictures  by  Sargent, 
Lemon  and  Will  H.  Low  ;  the  sculptured 
work  of  Rodin  and  Augustus  St.  Gaudens, 
with  rifle-racks,  revolvers  and  trophies  of 
savage  weapons.  And  the  conversation 
that  was  to  match :  English  literature  and 
copra ;  Paul  Bourget's  new  book  and  the 
rebel  loss  at  Tifitifi ;  European  politics, 
and  the  best  methods  of  suppressing  head- 
taking  ! 

When  he  was  detained  in  town  at  night, 
or  by  some  mischance  was  late  of  returning 
to  Vailima,  it  was  his  command  that  the 
house  should  be  lit  throughout  so  that  he 
might  see  it  shining  through  the  forest  on 
165 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

his  home-coming.  As  I  must  now  be 
drawing  to  an  end,  where  better  could  I 
stop  than  at  this  picture — the  tired  man 
drawing  rein  in  "  The  Road  of  the  Loving 
Heart,"  and  gazing  up  at  the  lights  of 
home? 


166 


POLA 


POLA 

"  "Y"  F  you  want  a  child  as  badly  as  all 
that,"  my  brother  said,  "why  not 
adopt  a  chief's  son,  someone  who  is 
handsome    and  well-born,  and   will   be   a 
credit  to  you,  instead  of  crying  your  eyes 
out  over  a  little  common  brat  who  is  an 
ungrateful    cub,    and    ugly   into   the   bar- 
gain ?  " 

I  wasn't  particularly  fond  of  the  "  com- 
mon brat,"  but  I  had  grown  used  to  tend- 
ing him,  bandaging  his  miserable  little  foot 
and  trying  to  make  his  lot  easier  to  bear, 
and  he  had  been  spirited  away.  One  may 
live  long  in  Samoa  without  understanding 
the  whys  and  wherefores.  His  mother 

may  have  been  jealous  of  my  care  of  the 
169 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

child  and  carried  him  away  in  the  night ; 
or  the  clan  to  which  he  belonged  may 
have  sent  for  him,  though  his  reputed 
father  was  our  assistant  cook.  At  any 
rate,  he  had  gone — disappeared  as  com- 
pletely and  entirely  as  though  he  had 
vanished  into  thin  air,  and  I,  sitting  on 
the  steps  of  the  veranda,  gave  way  to  tears. 

Two  days  later,  hastening  across  the 
court-yard,  I  turned  the  corner  sud- 
denly, nearly  falling  over  a  small  Samoan 
boy,  who  stood  erect  in  a  gallant  pose  be- 
fore the  house,  leaning  upon  a  long  stick 
of  sugar-cane,  as  though  it  were  a  spear. 

"  Who  are  you  ? "  I  asked,  in  the  na- 
tive language. 

"  I  am  your  son,"  was  the  surprising 
reply. 

"  And  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Pola,"  he  said.     "  Pola,  of  Tanuga- 
170 


I 


Pola. 


POLA 

manono,  and  my  mother  is  the  white  chief 
lady,  Teuila  of  Vailima." 

He  was  a  beautiful  creature,  of  an  even 
tint  of  light  bronze  brown  ;  his  slender 
body  reflected  the  polish  of  scented  cocoa- 
nut  oil,  the  tiny  garment  he  called  his 
lava  lava,  fastened  at  the  waist,  was 
coquettishly  kilted  above  one  knee.  He 
wore  a  necklace  of  scarlet  berries  across 
his  shoulders,  and  a  bright  red  hibiscus 
flower  stuck  behind  his  ear.  On  his  cheek 
a  single  rose-leaf  hid  the  dimple.  His 
large  black  eyes  looked  up  at  me  with  an 
expression  of  terror,  overcome  by  pure 
physical  courage.  From  the  top  of  his 
curly  head  to  the  soles  of  his  high-arched 
slender  foot  he  looked  tamaalii — high- 
bred. To  all  my  inquiries  he  answered  in 
purest  high-chief  Samoan  that  he  was  my 
son. 

173 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

My  brother  came  to  the  rescue  with 
explanations.  Taking  pity  on  me,  he  had 
gone  to  our  village  (as  we  called  Tanuga- 
manono)  and  adopted  the  chief's  second 
son  in  my  name,  and  here  he  was  come  to 
present  himself  in  person. 

I  shook  hands  with  him,  a  ceremony  he 
performed  very  gracefully  with  great  dig- 
nity. Then  he  offered  me  the  six  feet  of 
sugar-cane,  with  the  remark  that  it  was  a 
small,  trifling  gift,  unworthy  of  my  high- 
chief  notice.  I  accepted  it  with  a  show 
of  great  joy  and  appreciation,  though  by 
a  turn  of  the  head  one  could  see  acres  of 
sugar-cane  growing  on  the  other  side  of 
the  river. 

There  was  an  element  of  embarrass- 
ment in  the  possession  of  this  charming 
creature.  I  could  not  speak  the  Samoan 
language  very  well  at  that  time.  «nd  saw, 
174 


POLA 

by  his  vague  but  polite  smile,  that  much 
of  my  conversation  was  incomprehensible 
to  him.  His  language  to  me  was  so  ex- 
tremely "  high-chief"  that  I  could  not 
understand  more  than  three  words  in  a 
sentence.  What  made  the  situation  still 
more  poignant  was  that  look  of  repressed 
fear  glinting  in  the  depths  of  his  velvety 
eyes. 

I  took  him  by  the  hand  (that  trembled 
slightly  in  mine,  though  he  walked  boldly 
along  with  me)  and  led  him  about  the 
house,  thinking  the  sight  of  all  the  won- 
ders of  Vailima  might  divert  his  mind. 
When  I  threw  open  the  door  of  the  hall, 
with  its  pictures  and  statues,  waxed  floor 
and  glitter  of  silver  on  the  sideboard,  Pola 
made  the  regulation  quotation  from  Script- 
ure, "  And  behold  the  half  has  not  been 
told  me." 

175 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

He  went  quite  close  to  the  tiger-skin, 
with  the  glass  eyes  and  big  teeth.  "It  is 
not  living  ?  "  he  asked,  and  when  I  assured 
him  it  was  dead  he  remarked  that  it  was  a 
large  pussy,  and  then  added,  gravely,  that 
he  supposed  the  forests  of  London  were 
filled  with  these  animals. 

He  held  my  hand  quite  tightly  going 
up  the  stairs,  and  I  realized  then  that  he 
could  never  have  mounted  a  staircase  be- 
fore. Indeed,  everything  in  the  house, 
even  chairs  and  tables,  books  and  pictures, 
were  new  and  strange  to  this  little  savage 
gentleman. 

I  took  him  to  my  room,  where  I  had  a 
number  of  letters  to  write.  He  sat  on  the 
floor  at  my  feet  very  obediently  while  I 
went  on  with  my  work.  Looking  down  a 
few  minutes  later  I  saw  that  he  had  fallen 
asleep,  lying  on  a  white  rug  in  a  childish, 
176 


POLA 

graceful  attitude,  and  I  realized  again  his 
wild  beauty  and  charm. 

Late  in  the  day,  as  it  began  to  grow 
dark,  I  asked  Pola  if  he  did  not  wish  to 
go  home. 

"  No,  Teuila,"  he  answered,  bravely. 

"  But  you  will  be  my  boy  just  the  same," 
I  explained.  "  Only  you  see  Tumau  (his 
real  mother)  will  be  lonely  at  first.  So 
you  can  sleep  at  the  village  and  come  and 
see  me  during  the  day." 

His  eyes  lit  up  with  that  and  the  first 
smile  of  the  day  overspread  his  face,  show- 
ing the  whitest  teeth  imaginable. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  was  perfectly 
at  home  in  Vailima.  He  would  arrive  in 
the  morning  early,  attended  by  a  serving- 
man  of  his  family  who  walked  meekly  in 
the  young  chief's  footsteps,  carrying  the 

usual    gift    for    me.     Sometimes    it    was 
177 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

sugar-cane,  or  a  wreath  woven  by  the 
village  girls,  or  a  single  fish  wrapped  in 
a  piece  of  banana-leaf,  or  a  few  fresh 
water  prawns,  or  even  a  bunch  of  way- 
side flowers  ;  my  little  son  seldom  came 
empty-handed. 

It  was  Pola  who  really  taught  me  the 
Samoan  language.  Ordinarily  the  natives 
cannot  simplify  their  remarks  for  foreign- 
ers, but  Pola  invented  a  sort  of  Samoan 
baby-talk  for  me;  sometimes,  if  I  could  not 
understand,  he  would  shake  me  with  his 
fierce  little  brown  hands,  crying  "  Stupid, 
stupid  !  "  But  generally  he  was  extremely 
patient,  trying  a  sentence  in  half  a  dozen 
different  ways,  with  his  bright  eyes  fixed 
eagerly  on  my  face;  when  the  sense  of 
what  he  said  dawned  upon  me  and  I  re- 
peated it  to  prove  that  I  understood,  his 
own  countenance  would  light  up  with  an 
178 


POLA 

expression  of  absolute  pride  and  triumph. 
"  Good  !  "  he  would  say,  approvingly. 
"  Great  is  your  high-chief  wisdom  !  " 

Once  we  spent  a  happy  afternoon  to- 
gether in  the  forest  picking  up  queer  land 
shells,  bright  berries  and  curious  flowers, 
while  Pola  dug  up  a  number  of  plants  by 
the  roots.  I  asked  him  the  next  day  what 
he  had  done  with  the  beautiful  red  flowers. 
His  reply  was  beyond  me,  so  I  shook  my 
head.  He  looked  at  me  anxiously  for  a 
moment  with  the  worried  expression  that 
so  often  crossed  his  face  in  conversation 
with  me,  and  patting  the  floor  scraped  up 
an  imaginary  hole.  "  They  sit  down  in 
the  dusty,"  he  said  in  baby  Samoan. 
"Where?"  I  asked.  "In  front  of 
Tumau."  And  then  I  understood  that 
he  had  planted  them  in  the  ground  before 
his  mother's  house. 

181 


MEMORIES  OF  VAILIMA 

Another  time  he  came  up  all  laughter 
and  excitement  to  tell  of  an  adventure. 

"Your  brother,"  he  said,  "the  high- 
chief  Loia,  he  of  the  four  eyes  (eye- 
glasses), came  riding  by  the  village  as  I 
was  walking  up  to  Vailima.  He  offered 
me  a  ride  on  his  horse  and  gave  me 
his  chief-hand.  I  put  my  foot  on  the 
stirrup,  and  just  as  I  jumped  the  horse 
shied,  and,  as  I  had  hold  of  the  high- 
chief  Loia,  we  both  fell  off  into  the  road 
palasi." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "you  both  fell  off. 
That  was  very  funny." 

"Palasi!  "  he  reiterated. 

But  here  I  looked  doubtful.  Pola  re- 
peated his  word  several  times  as  though 
the  very  sound  ought  to  convey  some  idea 
to  my  bemuddled  brain,  and  then  a  bright 

idea  struck   him.     I   heard   his   bare  feet 
182 


POLA 

pattering  swiftly  down  the  stairs.  He 
came  flying  back,  still  laughing,  and  laid 
the  dictionary  in  my  lap.  I  hastily 
turned  the  leaves,  Pola  questing  in  each 
one  like  an  excited  little  dog,  till  I  found 
the  definition  of  his  word,  "  to  fall  squash 
like  a  ripe  fruit  on  the  ground." 

"  Palasi  !  "  he  cried,  triumphantly,  when 
he  saw  I  understood,  making  a  gesture 
downward  with  both  hands  the  while 
laughing  heartily.  "  We  both  fell  off 
pa  last !  " 

It  was  through  Pola  that  I  learned  all 
the  news  of  Tanugamanono.  He  would 
curl  up  on  the  floor  at  my  feet  as  I  sat  in 
my  room  sewing,  and  pour  forth  an  end- 
less stream  of  village  gossip.  How  Mata, 
the  native  parson,  had  whipped  his  daugh- 
ter for  going  to  a  picnic  on  Sunday  and 
drinking  a  glass  of  beer. 
183 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

"  Her  father  went  whack  !  whack  !  " 
Pola  illustrated  the  scene  with  gusto, 
"  and  Maua  cried,  ah  !  ah  !  But  the  vil- 
lage says  Mata  is  right,  for  we  must  not 
let  the  white  man's  evil  come  near  us." 

"  Evil  ?  "  I  said  ;  "  what  evil  ?  " 

"  Drink,"  said  Pola,  solemnly. 

Then  he  told  how  "  the  ladies  of 
Tanugamanono "  bought  a  pig  of  a 
trader,  each  contributing  a  dollar  until 
forty  dollars  were  collected.  There  was 
to  be  a  grand  feast  among  the  ladies  on 
account  of  the  choosing  of  a  maid  or 
taupOy  the  young  girl  who  represents  the 
village  on  all  state  occasions.  When  the 
pig  came  it  turned  out  to  be  an  old  boar, 
so  tough  and  rank  it  could  not  be  eaten. 
The  ladies  were  much  ashamed  before 
their  guests,  and  asked  the  white  man  for 
another  pig,  but  he  only  laughed  at  them. 
184 


POLA 

He    had    their   money,    so    he   did    not 
care. 

"  That  was  very,  very  bad  of  him,"  I 
exclaimed,  indignantly. 

"  It  is  the  way  of  white  people,"  said 
Pola,  philosophically. 

It  was  through  my  little  chief  that  we 
learned  of  a  bit  of  fine  hospitality.  It 
seems  that  pigs  were  scarce  in  the  village, 
so  each  house-chief  pledged  himself  to 
refrain  from  killing  one  of  them  for  six 
months.  Anyone  breaking  this  rule  agreed 
to  give  over  his  house  to  be  looted  by  the 
village. 

Pola  came  up  rather  late  one  morning, 
and  told  me,  hilariously,  of  the  fun  they 
had  had  looting  Tupuola's  house. 

"  But  Tupuola  is  a   friend  of  ours,"  I 
said.     "  I  don't  like  to  hear  of  all  his  be- 
longings being  scattered." 
187 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

"It  is  all  right,"  Pola  exclaimed.  "  Tu- 
puola  said  to  the  village,  (  Come  and  loot. 
I  have  broken  the  law  and  I  will  pay  the 
forfeit/  " 

"  How  did  he  break  the  law  ?  "  I  asked. 

"When  the  high-chief  Loia,  your 
brother  of  the  four  eyes,  .stopped  the 
night  at  Tanugamanono,  on  his  way  to 
the  shark  fishing,  he  stayed  with  Tupuola, 
so  of  course  it  was  chiefly  to  kill  a  pig  in 
his  honor." 

"  But  it  was  against  the  law.  My 
brother  would  not  have  liked  it,  and  Tu- 
puola must  have  felt  badly  to  know  his 
house  was  to  be  looted." 

"  He  would  have  felt  worse,"  said  Pola, 
"  to  have  acted  unchiefly  to  a  friend." 

We  never  would  have  known  of  the 
famine  in  Tanugamanono  if  it  had  not 
been  for  Pola.  The  hurricane  had  blown 

188 


POLA 

off  all  the  young  nuts  from  the  cocoanut- 
palms  and  the  fruit  from  the  breadfruit- 
trees,  while  the  taro  was  not  yet  ripe.  We 
passed  the  village  daily.  The  chief  was 
my  brother's  dear  friend,  the  girls  often 
came  up  to  decorate  the  place  for  a  dinner- 
party, but  we  had  no  hint  of  any  distress 
in  the  village. 

One  morning  I  gave  Pola  two  large 
ship's  biscuits  from  the  pantry. 

"  Be  not  angry,"  said  Pola.  "  But  I 
prefer  to  carry  these  home." 

"  Eat  them,"  I  said,  "  and  I  will  give 
you  more." 

Before  leaving  that  night  he  came  to 
remind  me  of  this.  I  was  swinging  in  a 
hammock  reading  a  novel  when  Pola 
came  to  kiss  my  hand  and  bid  me  good- 
night. 

"Love,"  I  said,  "Talo/a." 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

"  Soifua,"  Pola  replied,  "  may  you 
sleep ; "  and  then  he  added,  "  Be  not 
angry,  but  the  ship's  biscuits " 

"  Are  you  hungry  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Didn't 
you  have  your  dinner  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  plenty  of  pea-soupo  "  (a  gen- 
eral name  for  anything  in  tins) ;  "  but  you 
said,  in  your  high-chief  kindness,  that  if  I 
ate  the  two  biscuits  you  would  give  me 
more  to  take  home." 

"  And  you  ate  them  ?  " 

He  hesitated  a  perceptible  moment,  and 
then  said : 

"  Yes,  I  ate  them." 

He  looked  so  glowing  and  sweet,  lean- 
ing forward  to  beg  a  favor,  that  I  sud- 
denly pulled  him  to  me  by  his  bare,  brown 
shoulders  for  a  kiss.  He  fell  against  the 
hammock  and  two  ship's  biscuits  slipped 

from  under  his  lava  lava. 
190 


POLA 

"Oh,  Pola!"  I  cried,  reproachfully. 
It  cut  me  to  the  heart  that  he  should  lie 
to  me. 

He  picked  them  up  in  silence,  repress- 
ing the  tears  that  stood  in  his  eyes  and 
turned  to  go.  I  felt  there  was  something 
strange  in  this. 

"  I  will  give  you  two  more  biscuits,"  I 
said,  quietly,  "  if  you  will  explain  why  you 
told  a  wicked  lie  and  pained  the  heart  that 
loved  you." 

"  Teuila,"  he  cried,  anxiously,  "  I  love 
you.  I  would  not  pain  your  heart  for  all 
the  world.  But  they  are  starving  in  the 
village.  My  father,  the  chief,  divides  the 
food,  so  that  each  child  and  old  person 
and  all  shall  share  alike,  and  to-day  there 
was  only  green  baked  bananas,  two  for 
each,  and  to-night  when  I  return  there 

will   be  again  a  division  of  one  for  each 
191 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

member  of  the  village.  It  seems  hard 
that  I  should  come  here  and  eat  and  eat, 
and  my  brother  and  my  two  little  sisters, 
and  the  good  Tumau  also,  should  have 
only  one  banana.  So  I  thought  I  would 
say  to  you  c  behold  I  have  eaten  the  two 
biscuits '  and  then  you  would  give  me  two 
more  and  that  would  be  enough  for  one 
each  to  my  two  sisters  and  Tumau  and 
my  brother,  who  is  older  than  I." 

That  night  my  brother  went  down  to 
the  village  and  interviewed  the  chief.  It 
was  all  true,  as  Pola  had  said,  only  they 
had  been  too  proud  to  mention  it.  Mr. 
Stevenson  sent  bags  of  rice  and  kegs  of 
beef  to  the  village,  and  gave  them  per- 
mission to  dig  for  edible  roots  in  our  for- 
est, so  they  were  able  to  tide  over  until 
the  faro  and  yams  were  ripe. 

Pola  always  spoke  of  Vailima  as  "  our 
192 


POLA 

place,"  and  Mr.  Stevenson  as  "  my  chief." 
I  had  given  him  a  pony  that  exactly 
matched  his  own  skin.  A  missionary, 
meeting  him  in  the  forest  road  as  he  was 
galloping  along  like  a  young  centaur, 
asked,  "  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  I,"  answered  Pola,  reining  in  with  a 
gallant  air,  "  am  one  of  the  Vailima  men  !  " 

He  proved,  however,  that  he  consid- 
ered himself  a  true  Samoan  by  a  conver- 
sation we  had  together  once  when  we  were 
walking  down  to  Apia.  We  passed  a 
new  house  where  a  number  of  half-caste 
carpenters  were  briskly  at  work. 

"  See  how  clever  these  men  are,  Pola," 
I  said,  "  building  the  white  man's  house. 
When  you  get  older  perhaps  I  will  have 
you  taught  carpentering,  that  you  may 
build  houses  and  make  money." 

"  Me  ?  "  asked  Pola,  surprised. 
193 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

"  Yes,"  I  replied.  "  Don't  you  think 
that  would  be  a  good  idea  ?  " 

"  I  am  the  son  of  a  chief,"  said  Pola. 

"  I  know,"  I  said,  "  that  your  highness 
is  a  very  great  personage,  but  all  the  same 
it  is  good  to  know  how  to  make  money. 
Wouldn't  you  like  to  be  a  carpenter  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Pola,  scornfully,  adding, 
with  a  wave  of  his  arm  that  took  in  acres 
of  breadfruit-trees,  banana  groves,  and  taro 
patches,  "  Why  should  I  work  ?  All  this 
land  belongs  to  me." 

Once,  when  Pola  had  been  particularly 
adorable,  I  told  him,  in  a  burst  of  affection, 
that  he  could  have  anything  in  the  world 
he  wanted,  only  begging  him  to  name  it. 

He  smiled,  looked  thoughtful  for  an 
instant,  and  then  answered,  promptly,  that 
of  all  things  in  the  world  he  would  like 

ear-rings,  like  those  the  sailors  wear. 
194 


POLA 

I  bought  him  a  pair  the  next  time  I 
went  to  town.  Then,  armed  with  a  cork 
and  a  needleful  of  white  silk,  I  called  Pola, 
and  asked  if  he  wanted  the  ear-rings  badly 
enough  to  endure  the  necessary  operation. 

He  smiled  and  walked  up  to  me. 

"  Now,  this  is  going  to  hurt,  Pola,"  I 
said. 

He  stood  perfectly  straight  when  I 
pushed  the  needle  through  his  ear  and  cut 
off  the  little  piece  of  silk.  I  looked  anx- 
iously in  his  face  as  he  turned  his  head  for 
me  to  pierce  the  other  one.  I  was  so 
nervous  that  my  hands  trembled. 

"  Are  you  sure  it  does  not  hurt,  Pola, 
my  pigeon  ? "  I  asked,  and  I  have  never 
forgotten  his  answer. 

"  My  father  is  a  soldier,"  he  said. 

Pola's  dress  was  a  simple  garment,  a 
square  of  white  muslin  hemmed  by  his 
195 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

adopted  mother.  Like  all  Samoans,  he 
was  naturally  very  clean,  going  with  the 
rest  of  the  "  Vailima  men "  to  swim  in 
the  pool  twice  a  day.  He  would  wash 
his  hair  in  the  juice  of  wild  oranges,  clean 
his  teeth  with  the  inside  husk  of  the  co- 
coanut,  and,  putting  on  a  fresh  lava  lava, 
would  wash  out  the  discarded  one  in  the 
river,  laying  it  out  in  the  sunshine  to  dry. 
He  was  always  decorated  with  flowers  in 
some  way — a  necklace  of  jessamine  buds, 
pointed  red  peppers,  or  the  scarlet  fruit 
of  the  pandanas.  Little  white  boys  look 
naked  without  their  clothes,  but  Pola  in  a 
strip  of  muslin,  with  his  wreath  of  flowers, 
or  sea-shells,  some  ferns  twisted  about 
one  ankle,  perhaps,  or  a  boar's  tusk  fas- 
tened to  his  left  arm  with  strands  of  horse- 
hair, looked  completely,  even  handsomely, 
dressed. 

196 


The  Bathing  Pool. 


POLA 

He  was  not  too  proud  to  lend  a  help- 
ing hand  at  any  work  going — setting  the 
table,  polishing  the  floor  of  the  hall  or  the 
brass  handles  of  the  old  cabinet,  leading 
the  horses  to  water,  carrying  pails  for  the 
milkmen,  helping  the  cook  in  the  kitchen, 
the  butler  in  the  pantry,  or  the  cow-boy 
in  the  fields ;  holding  skeins  of  wool  for 
Mr.  Stevenson's  mother,  or  trotting  beside 
the  lady  of  the  house,  "  Aolele,"  as  they 
all  called  her,  carrying  seeds  or  plants  for 
her  garden.  When  my  brother  went  out 
with  a  number  of  natives  laden  with  sur- 
veying implements,  Pola  only  stopped 
long  enough  to  beg  for  a  cane-knife  before 
he  was  leading  the  party.  If  Mr.  Steven- 
son called  for  his  horse  and  started  to 
town  it  was  always  Pola  who  flew  to  open 
the  gate  for  him  waving  a  Manuia  and 
"  good  luck  to  the  travelling  ! " 
199 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

The  Samoans  are  not  reserved,  like 
the  Indians,  or  haughty,  like  the  Arabs. 
They  are  a  cheerful,  lively  people,  who 
keenly  enjoy  a  joke,  laughing  at  the  slight- 
est provocation.  Pola  bubbled  over  with 
fun,  and  his  voice  could  be  heard  chatter- 
ing and  singing  gayly  at  any  hour  of  the 
day.  He  made  up  little  verses  about  me, 
which  he  sang  to  the  graceful  gestures 
of  the  siva  or  native  dance,  showing  un- 
affected delight  when  commended.  He 
cried  out  with  joy  and  admiration  when 
he  first  heard  a  hand-organ,  and  was  ex- 
citedly happy  when  allowed  to  turn  the 
handle.  I  gave  him  a  box  of  tin  soldiers, 
which  he  played  with  for  hours  in  my 
room.  He  would  arrange  them  on  the 
floor,  talking  earnestly  to  himself  in  Sa- 
moan. 

"  These    are    brave    brown    men,"    he 
200 


POLA 

would  mutter.  "  They  are  fighting  for 
Mata'afa.  Boom !  boom  !  These  are 
white  men.  They  are  fighting  the  Sa- 
moans.  Pouf ! "  And  with  a  wave  of 
his  arm  he  knocked  down  a  whole  battal- 
ion, with  the  scornful  remark,  "  The  Sa- 
moans  win  ! " 

After  Mr.  Stevenson's  death  so  many 
of  his  Samoan  friends  begged  for  his  pho- 
tograph that  we  sent  to  Sydney  for  a 
supply,  which  was  soon  exhausted.  One 
afternoon  Pola  came  in  and  remarked,  in 
a  very  hurt  and  aggrieved  manner,  that  he 
had  been  neglected  in  the  way  of  photo- 
graphs. 

"  But  your  father,  the  chief,  has  a  large 
fine  one." 

"  True,"  said  Pola.  "  But  that  is  not 
mine.  I  have  the  box  presented  to  me 
by  your  high-chief  goodness.  It  has  a 


201 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

little  cover,  and  there  1  wish  to  put  the 
sun-shadow  of  Tusitala,  the  beloved  chief 
whom  we  all  revere,  but  I  more  than  the 
others  because  he  was  the  head  of  my 
clan." 

"  To  be  sure,"  I  said,  and  looked  about 
for  a  photograph.  I  found  a  picture  cut 
from  a  weekly  paper,  one  I  remember  that 
Mr.  Stevenson  himself  had  particularly 
disliked.  He  would  have  been  pleased 
had  he  seen  the  scornful  way  Pola  threw 
the  picture  on  the  floor. 

"  I  will  not  have  that !  "  he  cried.  "It 
is  pig-faced.  It  is  not  the  shadow  of  our 
chief."  He  leaned  against  the  door  and 
wept. 

"  I  have  nothing  else,  Pola,"  I  pro- 
tested. "  Truly,  if  I  had  another  picture 
of  Tusitala  I  would  give  it  to  you." 

He  brightened  up  at  once.     "  There  is 


202 


POLA 

the  one  in  the  smoking-room,"  he  said, 
"  where  he  walks  back  and  forth.  That 
pleases  me,  for  it  looks  like  him."  He 
referred  to  an  oil  painting  of  Mr.  Steven- 
son by  Sargent.  I  explained  that  I  could 
not  give  him  that.  "  Then  I  will  take 
the  round  one,"  he  said,  "  of  tin."  This 
last  was  the  bronze  bas-relief  by  St.  Gau- 
dens.  I  must  have  laughed  involuntarily, 
for  he  went  out  deeply  hurt.  Hearing  a 
strange  noise  in  the  hall  an  hour  or  so 
later,  I  opened  the  door,  and  discovered 
Pola  lying  on  his  face,  weeping  bitterly. 

"  What  are  you  crying  about  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  The  shadow,  the  shadow,"  he  sobbed. 
"  I  want  the  sun-shadow  of  Tusitala." 

I  knocked  at  my  mother's  door  across 
the  hall,  and  at  the  sight  of  that  tear- 
stained  face  her  heart  melted,  and  he 
203 


MEMORIES  OF  VAILIMA 

was  given  a  good  photograph,  which  he 
wrapped  in  a  banana-leaf,  tying  it  carefully 
with  a  ribbon  of  grass. 

We  left  Samoa  after  Mr.  Stevenson's 
death,  staying  away  for  more  than  a  year. 
Pola  wrote  me  letters  by  every  mail  in  a 
large  round  hand,  but  they  were  too  con- 
ventional to  bear  any  impress  of  his  mind. 
He  referred  to  our  regretted  separation, 
exhorting  me  to  stand  fast  in  the  high- 
chief  will  of  the  Lord,  and,  with  his  love 
to  each  member  of  the  family,  mentioned 
by  name  and  title,  he  prayed  that  I  might 
live  long,  sleep  well,  and  not  forget  Pola, 
my  unworthy  servant. 

When  we  returned  to  Samoa  we  were 
up  at  dawn,  on  shipboard,  watching  the 
horizon  for  the  first  faint  cloud  that  floats 
above  the  island  of  LJpulu.  Already  the 
familiar  perfume  came  floating  over  the 
204 


POLA 

waters — that  sweet  blending  of  many 
odors,  of  cocoanut  oil  and  baking  bread- 
fruit, of  jessamine  and  gardenia.  It  smelt 
of  home  to  us',  leaning  over  the  rail  and 
watching.  First  a  cloud,  then  a  shadow 
growing  more  and  more  distinct  until  we 
saw  the  outline  of  the  island.  Then,  as  we 
drew  nearer,  the  deep  purple  of  the  distant 
hills,  the  green  of  the  rich  forests,  and  the 
silvery  ribbons  where  the  waterfalls  reflect 
the  sunshine. 

Among  the  fleet  of  boats  skimming  out 
to  meet  us  was  one  far  ahead  of  the  others, 
a  lone  canoe  propelled  by  a  woman,  with  a 
single  figure  standing  in  the  prow.  As 
the  steamer  drew  near  I  made  out  the 
figure  of  Pola,  dressed  in  wreaths  and 
flowers  in  honor  of  my  return.  As  the 
anchor  went  down  in  the  bay  of  Apia  and 

the  custom-house  officer  started  to  board, 
205 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

I  called  out,  begging  him  to  let  the  child 
come  on  first.  He  drew  aside.  The 
canoe  came  alongside  the  ship,  and  Pola, 
in  his  finery  of  fresh  flowers,  ran  up  the 
gangway  and  stepped  forth  on  the  deck. 
The  passengers  drew  back  before  the 
strange  little  figure,  but  he  was  too  intent 
upon  finding  me  to  notice  them. 

"  Teuila !  "  he  cried,  joyfully,  with  the 
tears  rolling  down  his  cheeks.  I  went 
forward  to  meet  him,  and,  kneeling  on  the 
deck,  caught  him  in  my  arms. 


206 


SAMOAN    SONGS 


SAMOAN    SONGS 

IN  Samoa  a  man's  standing  in  the  com- 
munity can  be  pretty  well  gauged  by 
the  songs  that  are  composed  and  sung 
about  him.  Some  are  humorous,  some  sa- 
tirical, some  complimentary,  and  many  are 
only  rhymes  to  his  name,  like  a  nursery 
jingle.  The  smallest  incident,  once  put 
into  song,  will  live  for  years.  There  is  a 
boat-song  about  a  very  unpopular  official 
who  left  the  islands  years  ago.  We  were 
once  travelling  by  water  in  the  smooth 
lagoon  within  the  coral  reef,  and  passed  the 
house  where  this  man  had  lived;  it  was 
pointed  out  to  us,  and  instantly,  with  a 
sweep  of  the  oars  to  keep  time,  the  boat- 
man trolled  out  the  jeering,  scornful  words: 
209 


MEMORIES  OF  VAILIMA 

A  wise  man  broke  through  the  horizon  ; 
Did  he  give  us  of  his  wisdom  ? 
Nay  ;  no  wisdom  came  to  us, 
But  all  our  money  went  to  him. 
Aue  !  aue  !     All  our  money's  gone  ! 

Mr.  Stevenson  mentions  in  his  "Foot- 
note to  History  "  how  Mr.  Weber  of  the 
German  firm  was  remembered  in  the 
islands : 

His  name  still  lives  in  the  songs  of  Samoa.  One 
that  I  have  heard  tells  of  Misi  Ueba  and  a  biscuit-box, 
the  suggesting  incident  being  long  since  forgotten. 
Another  sings  plaintively  how  all  things,  land  and  food 
and  property,  pass  progressively,  as  by  a  law  of  nature, 
into  the  hands  of  Misi  Ueba,  and  soon  nothing  will  be 
left  for  Samoans.  This  is  an  epitaph  the  man  would 
have  enjoyed. 

There  are  many  songs  about  Tusitala 
("  Story-writer  "),  as  Mr.  Stevenson  was 
called  in  the  island — rousing  boat-songs, 
when  the  paddles  all  beat  time,  and  the 

2IO 


SAMOAN   SONGS 

handles  are  clicked  against  the  sides  of 
the  canoe  to  the  rhythm  of  his  name. 
The  Samoans  show  their  courtesy  in  re- 
membering a  man's  songs,  and  even  in 
rowing  Mr.  Stevenson  out  to  meet  a 
passenger-ship  I  have  heard  the  boatmen 
keep  time  to 

Tusitala  ma  Aolele. 

Much  travelling  is  done  by  water  in  the 
islands,  and  at  night,  to  avoid  the  sun's 
rays.  It  was  very  pleasant  rowing  by 
moonlight  in  the  quiet  waters  of  the 
lagoon  near  the  shore,  within  the  protect- 
ing coral  reef  that  surrounds  each  island 
of  the  group  and  breasts  the  full  force  of 
the  ocean  breakers.  The  roaring  and 
boiling  of  the  surf  made  a  pleasant  ac- 
companiment to  the  singing  voices  of  the 
brown  men  as  they  kept  time  to  the 


MEMORIES  OF  VAILIMA 

rhythm  of  the  song  with  a  long  sweep  of 
the  oars.  The  groves  of  palm-trees  grow 
in  thick  foliage  to  the  water's  edge,  and 
often  from  the  shadow  where  a  cluster 
of  native  houses  lay  hidden,  the  people, 
recognizing  the  passing  traveller  by  his 
boat -song,  would  call  out  across  the 
lagoon,  "  Talofa  Tusitala  !  " 

There  are  dancing-songs  about  Mr.  Ste- 
venson, depicting  life  at  Vailima,  which 
might  be  called  topical,  as  they  gener- 
ally touched  upon  the  small  incidents  of 
plantation  life.  These  were  composed 
by  some  servant  or  laborer  on  the  place, 
and  saved  up  for  a  fete-day,  such  as  Christ- 
mas, the  holidays  of  England  and  America, 
and  Mr.  Stevenson's  birthday,  when  they 
were  chanted,  danced,  and  acted  with  great 
spirit  by  the  Samoans  of  our  household. 
Sometimes  every  member  of  the  family 

212 


SAMOAN   SONGS 

would  be  represented,  each  singing  a 
characteristic  verse,  while  all  hands  came 
in  on  the  refrain  in  a  full,  rich  harmony. 
The  central  figure,  the  heart  of  the  song, 
was  always  Tusitala,  and  though  they 
made  many  little  jokes  at  the  expense  of 
the  rest  of  us,  his  name  was  always  treated 
with  respect. 

Other  songs  are  long  chants,  with  innu- 
merable verses  descriptive  of  Tusitala's 
wisdom,  his  house,  his  friendship  for  the 
natives,  and  his  love  for  Samoa.  One  of 
these  may  be  called  the  "  Song  of  the 
Roof-Iron,"  or  "  The  Meeting  of  Tusitala 
and  the  Men  of  Vaie'e." 

The  chief  of  Vaie'e,  on  the  windward 
side  of  the  island,  had  saved  up  sixty  dol- 
lars in  twelve  "  golden  shillings,"  as  he 
called  the  five-dollar  pieces.  War  had 

broken    out,  and  he    and    his    men  were 

213 


MEMORIES  OF   VAILIMA 

going  off  to  fight.  Their  village  might 
be  looted  during  their  absence,  so  they 
brought  the  bag  of  golden  shillings  to 
Tusitala ;  brought  it  with  much  ceremony 
and  many  presents,  including  a  live  turtle 
borne  aloft  on  two  poles.  Mr.  Stevenson 
locked  up  the  precious  bag  in  his  safe  that 
is  built  into  the  hall  at  Vailima.  After 
three  months,  when  the  warriors  returned, 
the  money  was  given  back  to  them.  They 
explained  that  it  had  been  saved  up  with 
incredible  patience  to  buy  roof-iron  for 
their  new  church.  Mr.  Stevenson  good- 
naturedly  took  the  matter  in  hand,  with 
the  result  that  the  village  received  more 
roof-iron  for  the  money  than  had  ever 
been  given  to  natives  before.  The  friend- 
ly act  was  commemorated  in  a  song  that 
is  really  prettier  than  one  would  think 

the  subject  warranted,  and  the  friendship 
214 


Visitors  from  Vale '  e. 


SAMOAN   SONGS 

begun  over  the  matter  of  the  roof-iron 
has  endured  between  the  people  of  Vaie'e 
and  the  members  of  Tusitala's  family  to 
this  day. 

"  The  Song  of  the  Wen  "  commemorates 
an  interesting  event.  A  humble  servant 
of  the  family,  a  lively,  amusing  fellow 
named  Eliga,  was  afflicted  with  a  large, 
unsightly  tumor  on  his  back.  In  a  land 
where  beauty  is  of  the  first  importance, 
this  unfortunate  man  was  made  to  suffer 
doubly.  Mr.  Stevenson  and  my  mother 
had  him  examined  by  the  kindly  surgeon 
of  an  English  man-of-war,  who  proposed 
an  operation.  But  Eliga  would  not  sub- 
mit. He  explained  to  Tusitala  that  there 
were  strings  in  the  wen  that  were  tied 
about  his  heart,  and  if  they  were  severed 
he  would  die.  When  Mr.  Stevenson 
translated  the  doctor's  diagnosis,  Eliga 

217 


MEMORIES   OF  VAILIMA 

was  unconvinced.  His  skin,  he  said,  was 
different  on  the  outside  from  a  white  man's, 
and  therefore  it  was  not  unnatural  to  sup- 
pose that  his  insides  were  made  on  a  dif- 
ferent plan. 

In  the  end  Mr.  Stevenson's  and  my 
mother's  arguments  prevailed,  and  he  sub- 
mitted ;  but  for  their  sakes,  not  his  own, 
and  he  begged  them  to  remember,  when 
he  was  gone,  that  he  had  died  for  love  of 
them.  On  the  day  of  the  operation  Eliga 
prepared  his  house  for  death  ;  the  fine  mats 
were  spread,  the  rush  curtains  were  all  up, 
the  decorations  removed  ;  the  single  room 
was  so  exquisitely  prepared  that  not  a  peb- 
ble on  the  floor  was  out  of  place,  and  his 
relatives  were  assembled.  He  himself  was 
of  a  pale-lead  color  and  shaking  with  appre- 
hension, yet  he  came  out  bravely  and  lifted 
Aolele  off  her  horse,  and  received  Tusitala 
218 


SAMOAN   SONGS 

and  the  doctor  with  perfect  self-posses- 
sion. 

The  operation  was  successful,  and  Eliga 
recovered ;  but  it  was  not  only  renewed 
health  and  strength  that  came  to  him,  but 
the  fulfilment  of  his  dearest  ambitions. 
Owing  to  his  deformity  he  had  been  kept 
out  of  titles  and  estates  that  were  promptly 
restored  to  him.  In  the  islands  no  de- 
formed or  very  ugly  person  can  be  a  chief. 
Indeed,  if  the  children  of  a  great  man  are 
ill-looking  it  is  not  unusual  for  him  to 
adopt  the  handsomest  boy  in  the  village 
to  succeed  him. 

The  change  in  Eliga  was  magical.  In- 
stead of  being  the  cringing,  almost  dwarf- 
ish creature  who  cut  monkey-tricks  to 
make  people  laugh,  after  the  pathetic 
manner  of  the  deformed  in  Samoa,  he 
carried  himself  erect,  with  a  haughty  mien  ; 
219 


MEMORIES  OF  VAILIMA 

he  dyed  his  hair  red,  and  wore  it  in  the 
latest  fashion,  combed  up  into  Grecian 
curls  and  powdered  with  sandalwood. 
When  he  came  into  his  title  he  made  a 
visit  to  Vailima  in  state,  accompanied  by 
his  new  retainers,  all  laden  with  gifts  for 
the  family,  and  "  The  Song  of  the  Wen  " 
was  sung  for  the  first  time. 

A  semicircle  of  men  sat  upon  mats  laid 
out  upon  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  house. 
On  the  veranda,  facing  them,  sat  Mr. 
Stevenson,  surrounded  by  his  family  and 
native  servants,  looking  on  with  that 
serious,  respectful  attention  it  was  his  cus- 
tom to  accord  all  native  formalities,  how- 
ever trivial  they  may  have  seemed. 

Eliga  came  forward  crouchingly,  with  a 
cocoanut  tied  by  a  piece  of  sinnet  to  his 
back.  To  the  accompaniment  of  clapping 
hands  and  harmonious  chanting,  he  half 

220 


SAMOAN   SONGS 

recited,  half  acted  the  story  before  us. 
He  capered,  he  made  silly,  hideous  faces, 
he  did  the  buffoon  for  the  last  time  in  his 
life ;  and  then,  as  the  string  was  cut,  and 
the  cocoanut  rolled  to  the  ground,  he 
sprang  erect,  thumped  his  breast,  and  sang 
aloud  his  triumph  and  gratitude. 

"  O  Tusitala !  "  he  cried,  "  when  you 
first  came  here  I  was  ugly  and  poor  and 
deformed.  I  was  jeered  at  and  scorned 
by  the  unthinking.  I  ate  grass  ;  a  bunch 
of  leaves  was  my  sole  garment,  and  I  had 
nothing  to  hide  my  ugliness.  But  now, 
O  Tusitala,  now  I  am  beautiful ;  my  body 
is  sound  and  handsome :  I  bear  a  great 
name ;  I  am  rich  and  powerful  and  un- 
ashamed, and  I  owe  it  all  to  you,  Tusi- 
tala. I  have  come  to  tell  your  Highness 
that  I  will  not  forget.  Tusitala,  I  will 

work  for  you  all  my  life,  and  my  family 
223 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

shall  work  for  your  family,  and  there  shall 
be  no  question  of  wage  between  us,  only 
loving-kindness.  My  life  is  yours,  and  I 
will  be  your  servant  till  I  die." 

The    most    beautiful  of  the  songs  are 
those  that  were  composed  in  memory  of 
Mr.  Stevenson,  and  sung  at  Vailima  after 
his  death.     One,  referring  to  the  steadfast 
loyalty  of  Mr.  Stevenson   to    the    High 
Chief  Mataafa,  through    peace    and  war, 
victory  and  defeat,  has  for  its  refrain  : 
Once  Tusitala's  friend, 
Always  Tusitala's  friend. 

Another  describes  a  Samoan  searching 
among  the  white  people  for  one  as  good 
and  kind  as  Tusitala.  He  asks  of  the 
officials  and  the  consuls  and  captains  of 
ships,  and  they  all  answer,  "  There  were 
none  like  him,  and  he  has  gone." 

For  months  after  his  death,  parties  of 
224 


SAMOAN   SONGS 

natives,  headed  by  the  chief  bringing  a 
present  of  a  costly,  fine  mat,  would  come 
to  Vailima  and  offer  their  condolences  to 
the  family.  They  were  people  whom  he 
had  befriended,  with  their  followers  and 
clans  :  for  each  small,  individual  kindness 
an  entire  village  assumed  the  burden  of 
gratitude.  There  were  his  old  friends, 
Tuimalealiifano  and  his  village  of  Fale- 
latai ;  Seumanutafa,  the  chief  of  Apia ; 
the  villages  of  Vaie'e  and  Safata,  Falefa 
and  many  others.  There  were  the  politi- 
cal prisoners,  chiefs  of  important  clans 
whom  Mr.  Stevenson  was  instrumental  in 
releasing  from  jail.  There  were  the  mem- 
bers of  the  clan  of  the  beloved  Mataafa, 
then  an  exile,  all  bringing  presents  and 
making  very  touching  speeches  of  love 
for  Tusitala,  and  sympathy  for  his  family. 

Each    party,  on  leaving,  handed    to    my 
227 


MEMORIES   OF   VAILIMA 

mother  a  roll  of  paper :  it  was  the  song  of 
that  village  written  in  memory  of  Mr. 
Stevenson. 

When  a  party  of  Samoans,  for  love  of 
him,  weed  the  path  that  leads  to  Vaea  ; 
when  they  gather  once  a  year,  on  the  ijth 
of  November,  bringing  wreaths  and  flowers 
to  decorate  his  tomb ;  when  a  party  of 
travellers  cross  the  mountain  by  his  grave, 
they  lift  their  tuneful  voices  in  one  of 
these  songs : 

Groan  and  weep,  O  my  heart  in  its  sorrow  ! 
Alas  for  Tusitala,  who  rests  in  the  forest ! 
Aimlessly  we  wait,  and  sorrowing ;  will  he  again  return  ? 
Lament,  O  Vailima  !     Waiting  and  ever  waiting  ! 
Let  us  search  and  ask  of  the  captains  of  ships, 
"Be  not  angry,  but  has  not  Tusitala  come  ?" 

Grieve,  O  my  heart  !     I  cannot  bear  to  look  on 
All  the  chiefs  who  are  assembling. 
Alas,  Tusitala,  thou  art  not  here  ! 
I  look  hither  and  thither,  in  vain,  for  thee. 
228 


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